


We are all caught in the in between (Of what's real and what's a dream?)

by wreck_jroth_club



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Multi, POV Clarke Griffin, Smut, The 100 (TV) Season 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 108,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreck_jroth_club/pseuds/wreck_jroth_club
Summary: “Everyone is a combination of their choices over time. Clarke Griffin has one soul, one mind space. But each decision puts you and everyone around you on a different path—all of which are stored in the anomaly stone. Once you consider that’s true for every person to have ever lived, the number of alternate timelines created by these different decisions is infinite.”Would you choose the end of war and suffering in your own lifetime if it meant the end of every other universe, too—including ones where you, your friends, and your family are happy and at peace?***Or, the S7 finale rewrite where Clarke experiences some of these other lifetimes and makes the ultimate choice of whether or not the end of suffering in her own reality is worth sacrificing infinite others where things might have gone differently.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 491
Kudos: 247





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the first chapter of our new collab fic! This fic will feature chapters written by some of your favorite fic authors, accompanying moodboards and art from talented creators, and a healthy dose of shade at a certain showrunner for that damn ending. Chapters will post (most) every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday, and we hope you'll follow along for the ride! 
> 
> This chapter was written by [Mads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/changingthefairy_tale) and the moodboard was created by [Miranda](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Both Madison and Miranda are writers and creators for The 100 Fic for BLM! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out [ the carrd here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/).

The last person who should be pushing the symbols on the anomaly stone is Clarke, that’s about the only thing she knows for sure as she presses the final infinity symbol that opens the portal. 

She’d argued that Raven or Gabriel should be the one to take the test—Gabriel has the most Earth years under his belt with a good head on his shoulders, and Raven is a good test taker and would probably be a better judgment of humanity than Clarke. 

But they’d insisted it be her, that Bellamy would want for it to be her. Clarke isn’t so sure about that; not after she shot him. And for nothing at that—Cadogan is dead, Madi is comatose, and Bellamy had been right all along. 

With one last lingering look at her friends, she walks through the haze toward a blinding light. As her eyes adjust, she finds herself...in her mind space? The portal closes behind her, and she turns to study her surroundings. 

She’s on the Ark, similar to how her mind space was set up. In fact, she’s in the hallway between her and Wells’ family suites where they used to play hide and seek a lot as kids. She smiles a little at the memory of a pigtailed Clarke chasing after a toothless Wells, their parents warning them not to run. 

There are sketches covering almost every available surface, some easily recognizable and others not. Unable to help her own curiosity, she steps closer to the nearest wall, her eyes skimming over what looked to be a sketch of her and Bellamy as kids. Except her hair is too dark, it looks like his nose is a little off, and she’d never known Bellamy when they were kids. 

“It’s a unique way to store information, I’ll give you that,” a familiar deep voice calls from behind her. Clarke’s heart catches in her throat, and she closes her eyes for a split second before daring to turn around. 

This can’t be real.

But when she opens her eyes, there he is. His curls are grown out, and he’s standing in the blue henley and black pants he was wearing the night he rescued her from Diyoza. 

_ Bellamy.  _

Without another second of hesitation, she throws herself at him. Tears spring to her eyes, and she wraps her arms around him tightly. He’s here, he’s back, he’s… 

Something is off. His arms come up to embrace her, and it feels almost like coming home. His arms are wrapped tight around her and it’s so very  _ him _ . But he doesn’t smell like pine and dirt and that indescribable Bellamy scent that Clarke associates with safety and comfort. 

“You’re not really him, are you?” she asks, pulling back. She looks at him closely, and her heart hurts. It’s Bellamy—her Bellamy. But it can’t be him, not really. He’s dead, and this is just a cruel joke the anomaly is playing on her.

The realization makes her chest ache in a way that almost causes her to physically curl in on herself. But she stands tall, pushing down the nausea to meet the brown eyes that haunt her dreams. 

“No, not really,” he says with his mouth drawn in the thin line that used to mean he was sorry about something. 

“Am I in my mind space?” She looks around as she asks, confused. Her realization causes his expression to shift into a warm smile, a sight she didn’t get to see enough of when Bellamy was alive. It feels like a punch to the gut.

“The anma stones—anomaly stones, as you call them—are where mind spaces are stored.” Clarke must be looking at him like he’s grown a second head because he chuckles a little before continuing as he walks down the hall. She follows, trying not to get distracted by the sketches on the walls. “Everyone’s thoughts, memories, personalities, choices...they’re all stored in your mind space. And that mind space is connected to the anma stones.” 

She doesn’t say anything, trying to understand what exactly he’s saying.

“Yes. It’s a lot to process,” he says sympathetically. 

Her mind is turning, hung up on something he’d said. “So everyone’s mind space is stored in the stones?” 

“Yes.” 

“My mom, my dad, Wells...” she trails off, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “Bellamy?” Her voice breaks at his name, at the idea that he somehow still exists within the stones. 

“Yes.” 

She can feel a tear escape, wetness streaking down one cheek. “So you’re…” The rest gets caught in her throat—like her body wouldn’t let her utter the words. 

“I’m not Bellamy, not the Bellamy you know,” he clarifies, and her heart shatters all over again. “I’m a physical manifestation of the stone itself, and your mind space is what dictates what that looks like.” 

Different thoughts and emotions are warring within her. Because if Bellamy’s mind space is somehow stored in the anomaly and the figure standing beside her is a manifestation of the anomaly…that would mean he has access to Bellamy’s thoughts and feelings and memories. 

She feels angry and hurt and devastated that she gets to see her best friend again, except it’s not quite him. But god, it’s almost like it is. She has to actively fight the urge not to reach out to skim her fingertips over his cheeks, to lean into him like she would if he were really here. 

“I don’t want you here,” she says suddenly, taking a few jerky steps back. It’s too much, too hard. She can’t do this with those eyes staring at her—open and honest and just like she remembers them. 

“Your mind space seems to think otherwise. The anomaly, as you call it, doesn’t dictate how I appear. That’s up to you.” 

Clarke shuts her eyes tightly, will lo ing anyone else to show up in his place when she opens them. Send Monty. Or Wells. Finn, Jasper, Lexa, her parents...literally anyone but the man she shot a few days ago, the man who she once loved more than anything else in the universe. 

But when she finally opens her eyes again, it’s those same freckled cheeks and broad shoulders standing there. If there is a hell, Clarke thinks this might be it. 

“Then let’s get this test over with,” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and trying like hell to put some sort of wall up before her emotions get the better of her.

He looks like he’s going to argue with her for a second, but then he just shrugs as if to say  _ whatever the hell you want _ . “The test was surviving up to this point. Transcendence is merely a choice.” 

“A choice?” 

“Yes,” he nods. “The anma stones weren’t created to judge your past decisions, Clarke. Only you can do that. The stones merely act as the bridge between worlds.” 

Clarke’s eyebrows raise at that. So transcendence is a place? 

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but if that makes it easier to imagine, sure,” Bellamy answers the question she hadn’t voiced out loud. Great, this version of Bellamy can literally read her mind. 

“Get out of my head,” she grumbles. Too many people had been privy to her private thoughts and feelings lately—first Josie and then Cadogan. The last thing she needs is fake Bellamy knowing every thought that pops into her head.

“We’re literally in your mind space, Clarke,” he almost chuckles, rolling his eyes a little. 

Rather than dignify that with a response—verbal or otherwise—she just turns away from him, focusing instead on the sketches scrawled across the nearest wall.

They can’t be memories because some of them are too unfamiliar to her, and a few of the drawings are off—very off. There’s a picture of her and Wells laughing in what looks to be a cityscape that they’d obviously never visited. Were these meant to be dreams? 

He falls in step beside her as she walks through the hallway, studying her face as she takes in each sketch. 

It’s unsettling, the way he watches her just like Bellamy would when they were back on Earth. She can almost pretend that it really is him. Maybe that would make things easier. Or maybe it’d make it worse in the end—hell if she knows. 

“If transcendence is a choice, then what am I doing here? Wouldn’t we all just travel there like we do the other worlds? What’s the point of...” she gestures to the scene around her, hoping he would get what she means. The real Bellamy always did—and even though it wasn’t really him, the stone was connected to her mind, right? 

“It isn’t a physical place like Earth or Bardo. It’s...well, it’s not something that can be put into words. Religions have tried to over the course of time—calling it heaven, Valhalla, enlightenment, transcendence. But it’s impossible to define.” 

“So I’m supposed to decide if the human race transcends or not without you telling me what it even is? I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit,” she argues. It is all too much—Bellamy, the stones, transcendence. God, she misses the days when her biggest worry was grounders. At least that was something she could understand. 

The expression on Bellamy’s face tells her that he knows what she’s thinking, though he thankfully doesn’t comment. 

“It’s the end of all the suffering, all of the war, for every universe.” 

She pauses at that. “Every universe?” 

“The anma stones don’t just house the memories from this universe,” he says as if that explains it. It most certainly does not, and he must recognize that because he continues. “Everyone is a combination of their choices over time. Clarke Griffin has one soul, one mind space. But each decision puts you and everyone around you on a different path—all of which are stored in the anma stone. Once you consider that’s true for every person to have ever lived, the number of alternate timelines created by these different decisions is infinite.” 

After everything that’s happened—first learning that humanity had survived the bombs, then discovering ALIE, and then everything with Sanctum and the stones and Bardo—Clarke feels like nothing should phase her at this point. But being told that other universes exist is still throwing her for a loop. 

She’s quiet for a long time, staring at one of the familiar scenes on the wall—an image of her and Finn peeking at the glow in the dark plants and insects that first night on the ground—trying to let everything sink in. It’s like her entire worldview is turned on its axis. This is insane, right? She’s having a dream or a nightmare. It’s not real. None of this can be real. 

“Breathe, Princess,” Bellamy’s voice brings her back, and her confusion is replaced by hurt at the familiarity in his voice when he calls her Princess. 

“Don’t you dare fucking call me that,” she snaps, her head whipping up to meet his stare. Whether or not the real Bellamy’s mind space is floating around in the anomaly somewhere, he has no right to use his memories—her own memories—against her. 

He holds his hands up in surrender, a move that’s equally Bellamy-like as calling her Princess, but otherwise lets her be. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to wrap her mind around it all. 

“So the sketches on the walls. They’re memories from these other universes?” she asks after a few minutes. 

Bellamy nods, not saying anything else. 

Clarke thinks about it for another moment before coming to a decision. “I want to see the other universes.” 

He just blinks at her for a moment, as if he’s having trouble comprehending what she’s just said despite the fact that he can theoretically see into her thoughts. “That’s...not necessarily wise,” he says at last. 

“Why not?” she asks, crossing her arms across her chest. Real Bellamy or not, he has access to Bellamy’s memories—which means he’s very aware of how horribly things tend to go when she makes life-altering decisions for large groups of people. She’s not going to make a decision to  _ change life as they know it  _ for an infinite number of universes if she hasn’t seen any of them. 

“Seeing them won’t let you change anything. At the end of the day, seeing them may cause you unnecessary pain without helping you make a decision,” he explains, sounding distressed at the idea of her witnessing these other universes. For a moment her heart goes out for this manifestation of Bellamy, who obviously cares about her wellbeing—even if it’s because he’s in her mind space and not because he’s actually Bellamy. 

“I don’t care. I want to see them.” Clarke knows she’s being stubborn, and Bellamy runs a hand through his curls and exhales an exasperated sigh. The exchange is so very  _ them _ that it makes her chest constrict slightly. But she stands her ground, not flinching. 

After a moment of Bellamy clearly going back and forth with himself, he lets out another sigh. The anomaly version of Bellamy is dramatic too, it seems. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” she says back. 

They both look at each other for a moment, and Clarke doesn’t know what to do. He catches on, the corners of his mouth turning up in the ghost of a smile, before gesturing to one of the sketches on the wall. 

With a deep breath, Clarke reaches out to touch it just like she had in her mind space with Josie. For a split second, she feels weightless. And then the world around her disintegrates. 

* * *

In the blink of an eye, Clarke finds herself in the bunker. Wide-eyed, she frantically takes in her surroundings as the world around her comes into full focus. She’s leaned up against the piano they’d found in the bunker just days prior, and Gabriel is playing a soft melody, eyes focused in on his fingers as they float across the keyboard. 

Is this a memory? Bellamy— _ not Bellamy _ , she thinks bitterly to herself—had told her that this would be some sort of an alternate reality. But she’d just been here, standing in this very spot as Gabriel had played the same song. 

Clarke decides to just let herself experience the moment again, the beautiful, melancholy notes that accompanied a rare moment of peace. It feels like she could count these soft moments on one hand, all the times in her entire life on Earth when she could just stop and listen to someone play a pretty song. She hums along with it on instinct, remembering the melody, and Gabriel looks up at her. 

“Did they have jazz on the Ark?” he asks, his eyes kind and soft. It occurs to her then that there’s no reason she should know this song. But thankfully, he doesn’t press her on it, just going back to his music. He seems happy, content to live in this moment with the piano keys beneath his fingers. Her heart breaks for him; in less than 24 hours, he would die trying to save the life of her daughter. 

_ Madi.  _ She’s still alive at this point in time, and in just a couple of hours, she and Clarke would get into that fight with her screaming that Clarke had ruined both of their lives. She starts to straighten—wanting to talk to her, wanting to try and change things this time around. 

Is that possible? Can Clarke change things while in these universes? Is she even technically in this universe, or just experiencing a replica of it within the anomaly? A million questions run through her mind, questions she makes a mental note to ask Bellamy— _ no, the anomaly stone _ —when she goes back. 

Regardless, Clarke has to at least try—try to keep Madi from running off, try to keep her safe. If Madi isn’t safe, then shooting Bellamy meant nothing. Then she’d killed her best friend and the love of her life for nothing. And she barely survived that realization the first time. 

Just as she’s about to push away from the piano, two strong arms wrap around her—one across her collarbone and the other around her midsection to keep her close. She freezes on instinct, ready to fight her attacker, strategizing ways to get out of the hold. 

But then the familiar smell of pine and moss envelops her, and a voice she’s only heard in her dreams the past few days rumbles softly into her ear. “It’s okay, it’s just me.” 

_ Bellamy.  _

She melts into his embrace, relaxing against him and releasing a breath she feels like she’s been holding since she pulled that trigger. Tears fill her eyes as she’s suddenly bombarded with memories, memories of a life that isn’t quite hers. 

She remembers bickering with him at the dropship, his arrogant smirk and his apparent allergy to wearing a shirt. She remembers her own audacity and anger, getting in his face to tell him that he’d have to kill her if he wanted that wrist band. 

_ Brave Princess.  _

She remembers telling him that it wasn’t worth the risk for him to infiltrate Mt. Weather, then changing her mind after Lexa convinced her that her love for him was a weakness. She remembers leaving him at the gates of Arkadia, and him showing up in that cave with Roan months later. 

But something must have changed after they defeated Alie in the City of Light. Because she also remembers him coming to see her after they got back to Arkadia, which didn’t happen in her own timeline. She remembers him apologizing for Pike, her apologizing for leaving. 

_ Who knows forgiveness better than us, Princess? _

She remembers him holding her while she cried—cried at everyone she’d lost, everything she’d done, and everyone she would lose if they couldn’t find a way to survive Praimfaya. She remembers the way she kissed him that night, and the way he’d kissed her back. 

Clarke feels a blush creep up her cheeks as she remembers the showers taken together on Becca’s island when they were still searching for a nightblood solution before the world burned. That certainly hadn’t happened in her timeline. 

She remembers the way he kissed her and frantically told her he loved her before she rushed toward the tower. She remembers the way she held him while he cried after she woke up the first time after Diyoza had tortured her. She remembers with a sick sense of satisfaction deep in her gut how he’d admitted he’d never moved on while in space, how he’d never quite believed she could be dead. 

She remembers the fights they had about O on Sanctum, and the nights they spent making up afterward. The way he fought for her when Josie had taken over—though those memories aren’t far off from her own timeline’s version of events. It seems Bellamy fought for her in every reality. 

In this timeline, she’d gone with him to Gabriel’s after the Sanctum battle, and they’d both been taken to Bardo. They’d fought Cadogan together and had escaped hand in hand to the bunker with their friends. 

She remembers it like they are her own memories, even though she knows they aren’t. But in this universe, they are her story.  _ Their _ story. 

Gabriel continues to play, the melody shifting into something happier. It’s still slow, soothing. But the song gives Clarke hope. She leans back into Bellamy, who only tightens his hold around her. God, it feels so real. 

In this universe, Bellamy is alive and he’s hers. And for one blessed moment, Clarke feels whole again. 

But with the realization that there is a reality out there so similar to her own where Bellamy is alive and content with his arms anchoring Clarke to his chest, also comes the realization that this could have been hers. 

She can see the choices that could have changed the trajectory of their ending. One night over 130 years ago, one kiss, one admission of how she felt about him… and everything could have turned out differently. 

Something inside of her breaks at the thought, at the understanding that Bellamy’s death was avoidable. She’d killed her best friend, watched as the fire she’d fallen in love with had left his deep brown eyes. But this universe proves she didn’t have to, that it wasn’t the only way. 

She feels tears fall down her cheeks. How can someone feel so relieved and happy and heartbroken and angry and  _ jealous _ all at once? And dammit, she really is jealous. She’s jealous of whatever version of Clarke had gotten to live this life, this life where she knows Bellamy loves her and gets to go to sleep each night with the sound of his heartbeat lulling her into a content slumber. 

Clarke yearns for this life, this reality that is so breathtakingly close to her own while being so far out of reach. 

Bellamy must feel the teardrops on his arm because he turns her, bringing her into his chest as he places a soft kiss to her forehead. The sensation of his lips against her skin, the knowledge that she’ll never get to feel this again—that in her reality she never got to feel it to begin with—brings fresh tears to her eyes and heaves a sob out of her chest. 

"I know, I know,” he whispers soothingly into her ear, soft enough for just her to hear. “We'll figure out a way to keep Madi safe, Clarke. Cadogan won't get to her. He won’t take away my family." 

He must think she’s crying because she’s worried about Madi. And the way he sounds so confident, so breathtakingly sure that nothing can tear their little family apart...fuck, it rips Clarke’s chest wide open. 

But he just continues to hold onto her as they sway softly to the music that’s still floating through the air around them. She cries the tears she hadn’t let herself in her own timeline. She cries for the best friend she lost in the name of protecting Madi, she cries for her daughter who was taken away anyway, she cries for the man she could have loved, and she cries for the life she could have lived. 

When there are no more tears to cry, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close. 

“I love you,” she whispers, pressing her lips to the juncture of his shoulder and neck. “In every lifetime and in every universe, I love you, Bellamy Blake. I hope you know that.” 

“Someone is feeling rather sentimental this evening,” he jokes, and she can feel his smile against her temple as he presses a soft kiss there. She relishes the sensation, something she’d only experienced in her dreams before now. 

“I’m serious,” she says, pulling back to look him in the eye. She never got to tell him in her lifetime, never got to express fully how much he means to her. And even if her Bellamy will never know, there is a need deep inside her for this Bellamy to understand. 

She wants a sketch of the smile he gives her, the barely-there dimples at the corners of his mouth and the way his eyes crinkle, the smattering of freckles that create the constellations of her dreams. She needs to capture the way he’s looking at her, his eyes soft and filled with so much adoration and love. 

Before she can second-guess herself, she leans in to press her mouth against his. She lets herself have this, the feeling of his lips on hers, the love they both pour into it. 

Clarke has imagined kissing Bellamy more times than she can count, but nothing beats the sensation of his tongue darting out to trace the seam of her mouth as he deepens the kiss. No version of her daydreams compares to the soft sigh he breathes into her mouth when she takes his bottom lip between hers. Their kiss is a beautiful dance, one that this version of Bellamy has memorized. 

They break apart after a moment, and Clarke gives him one final, chaste kiss before burying her head against his chest. 

As they sway to the melody, Clarke starts to feel lightheaded. She holds on tighter to Bellamy, trying to steady herself. She closes her eyes tightly, trying like hell to ward off the sensation pulling her toward unconsciousness. 

No, she wants to stay awake a little longer. She needs to feel his arms around her just a little longer. But it’s no use, soon the world around her starts to fade. 

She feels Bellamy’s hand move to the back of her head and tangle into her hair, her last anchor to this world where she feels safe and happy and loved. But soon that sensation fades to black, too. The last thing she hears before it all descends into darkness is his deep voice whispering into her ear. 

“I love you, too, Clarke Griffin.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you liked this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated! 
> 
> Make sure to follow Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MadsWritesStuff). Also, follow Miranda on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/sparklyfairymira/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sparklyfairymi1) for more of their creations! Come scream with us wreckjrothclub on [Tumblr](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram!"](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke finds herself in a universe that is so unlike her own—it's both majestic and heartbreaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with chapter two! Who's excited? We're excited. This fic will feature chapters written by some of your favorite fic authors, accompanying moodboards and art from talented creators, and a healthy dose of shade at a certain showrunner for that damn ending. And chapters will post (most) every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday, and we hope you'll follow along for the ride! 
> 
> This chapter was written by [kinetic-elaboration](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_stone/pseuds/elle_stone), the introduction by [Mads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/changingthefairy_tale), and the moodboard was created by [Brooke](https://broashwhat.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Both Madison and Brooke are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out [ the carrd here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/).

When she opens her eyes, she’s back in her mindspace. 

No. She wants to go back, to experience more of that other version of her life. What happens next? Do they stop Cadogan? Do they find peace? She touches the sketch again, hoping it will pull her back in where she left off, but nothing happens. 

“That’s not how it works,” Bellamy’s soft voice says from beside her. 

She turns on him, tears welling up in her eyes again. “Why not? I need to know more! I need to know what happens after that. You can’t just show me this snapshot of a life that could have been mine, only to rip it away!” She’s yelling, and she knows she must sound close to hysterics. 

But Bellamy, the anomaly version of him, just looks at her with sympathy in his eyes. “I told you this would cause more harm than good. What you experienced was an echo of a memory, Clarke. You can’t change your reality by escaping into a different one.” 

She wipes hastily at her cheeks, trying to subdue the emotions tearing through her body. But it’s no use. Real Bellamy or not, she collapses into him. She needs the support, and he gladly helps her stay on her feet as she mourns a life that could have been. 

“You have to remember that this life _does_ exist, Clarke. These realities aren’t ‘could-have-beens’. They exist out there, and another Clarke has lived them.” 

She looks up at him, narrowing her eyes. “But _I_ didn’t. I didn’t go to see Bellamy that night, and I didn’t kiss him, and I didn’t dance with my arms around him while Gabe played a slow song on that stupid piano in the bunker. And I could have. One decision made in the dead of night over a century ago, and everything could have been different.” 

“The decisions you make define who you are. If you had gone to see him that night before Praimfaya, you wouldn’t be the Clarke standing in front of me today. And some other version of you would be here instead, asking the same questions you are.” He looks at her, and Bellamy or not, she understands what he’s not saying. 

This life, like all the others, is inevitable. There is no way to escape this eventuality, one of the infinite possibilities of what her life is and could be. 

“Different doesn’t mean better or worse, Clarke. It’s all relative. What this version of you may deem as paradise—take the life where you and Bellamy danced by the piano in the bunker—another version of you would see as foreign and unthinkable.” 

He holds a hand out for her to take, and she only hesitates a moment before placing her hand in his. He leads her down the hallway to another image—one where she’s asleep in a bed she doesn’t recognize. At his encouraging nod, she reaches out to touch it. 

Once again, she’s weightless before the fall into a new world. 

* * *

Clarke is lying on her back with her eyes closed, the warmth of the sun on her face.

Next to her, an odd and artificial sound—like the ringing of bells as imagined by a machine—is repeating, growing louder and louder with each refrain. She cannot think through the noise and the sleep-heavy feeling she has, like perhaps she has been woken in the middle of a dream.

She stretches out as far as she can against soft, worn sheets, feels the gentle weight of a blanket shifting over her. It must be scrunched up and in disarray because when she moves her legs, her feet stick out from underneath it and she can feel a jolt of cooler air against her skin. Her thoughts are still scrambled by the stupid, never-ending alarm bells, as she turns toward the light, curling in upon herself again, and opens her bleary eyes.

Her bed is set into the corner of the room next to a window, and the curtains have been opened wide to let in the morning sun. Its bright rays are burning fast through a thin layer of clouds, glinting against the windows of the buildings across the street. Remnants of mist catch on the branches and leaves of a few carefully spaced trees. The street feels narrow and settled; the buildings are made of stone, and she's too far up to see how high they go. She can’t tell if she's towering in the sky again or just a few levels above the ground, but she knows this place is peaceful: more akin to the Earth city streets she saw in the Ark database than the burned-out hollows and sunken, tattered ruins of Polis. 

Yes, an Earth city. Her bed is as wide and soft as the one in Becca's house, its sheets a light blue, and the blanket striped dark blue and gray. A sense of safety, originating from some unknown source—not logical, but somehow organic—starts to seep through her. She sits up and sweeps her hair back from her face, and glances down toward the street as if testing her own balance. A single person walks along the sidewalk, past new cars in the ancient-Earth style parked along the side of the road. She's maybe four, five stories up, but she feels like the queen of her own little neighborhood. Whatever this place is, it is, in a sense, all hers.

Then she hears her name, shouted with irritation from another room, and her stomach jumps. 

"Clarke! The alarm means wake up and turn it off!"

Underneath the annoyance in the voice is a genuine and unexpected warmth, and Clarke smiles, struck by a sense of wonder and relief before she can put the full realization into words: Raven is with her. She's not alone. The alarm is still blaring. She sweeps her gaze around the small, square room until she finds the bedside table and the slim, black device vibrating on top of it.

The screen reads _morning alarm_. She pokes at it, and then with a sudden hit of inspiration swipes her thumb across the screen. The noise stops. 

"Thank you!" Raven calls from the other room.

The device is a phone. Nothing like the radios she's used to but the knowledge feels right, settles in her easily. She untangles herself from the blanket and swings her legs down to the floor. Her feet land on a soft, fuzzy throw rug, which surprises and delights her. How thoughtful. How nice that someone has made this place a home.

"I hope you didn't just snooze it and go back to bed!" Raven yells again, and Clarke shakes her head, telling herself to focus. 

"No, I'm—I’m up!" she calls and hopes Raven cannot hear the uncertainty in her voice. "I'm coming!"

Her legs are remarkably steady as she puts her full weight on her feet and forces herself to stand. But she’s still tired, and still uneasy in this new world. Every thought forms on a delay. The first thing, she thinks, must be to get dressed. Wherever she's going, she can't show up in a thin t-shirt and shorts. So she tries the chest of drawers on the far side of the room.

The top drawer sticks. And she knows in that far-distant way, even as she forces it open, that it's wrong. Arrayed inside are neat rows of folded shirts on the right, underwear on the left, none of it hers. None of it hers. The soft intimacy of Raven’s clothes among her clothes, a worn and easy tender feeling that has never come as a shock or a revelation to this other version of her. That Clarke has built this with care over time. Years together now. 

They met in college but Raven wasn't out yet. Their friendship was never simple because they were drawn to each other too intensely. Nights spent unexpectedly in each other's beds, and Raven always tensing when Clarke would try to hold her hand. Now they have this apartment together, a one-bedroom with a tiny kitchen and a bathroom with a shower that always squeaks when it turns on. And Raven's so confident about kissing her in public, it still feels like she's trying to show off every time.

Clarke shuts the top drawer again slowly, closes her eyes, and catches her breath.

When she walks out through the living room and into the kitchen, she's wearing scrubs and comfortable shoes with her hair pulled back in a braid. Raven's sitting at the table, eating cereal and drinking black coffee out of a large, chipped mug. "Morning, lazy ass," she says and rolls her eyes. "I thought I was going to have to drag you out of bed myself."

"That would have been fun," Clarke answers, bracing herself with one hand on Raven's chair and one on the table as she leans in for a kiss. This is instinct, too—the morning kiss, short and sweet as a greeting—except that she lets it linger, out of curiosity, out of affection. Or love. She's never felt such a warm, pure rush of feeling at the sight of Raven's face or the sound of her voice, warm beneath the gentle chiding, and she wants to chase it down. She wants to feel it, deep down, as if it were really hers.

"What was that for?" Raven asks, on a soft exhale. She's smiling so broadly the words sound like laughter. "Looking forward to tonight?"

"Yes," Clarke answers, grateful for the easy excuse. "Can't wait."

"Me neither. We're still meeting at the restaurant, right?"

"Yes. Because you're coming straight from work." She exhales a deep breath, but Raven doesn't seem to notice the relief in it, the satisfaction of information pinging somewhere in her brain.

"Nearly, yeah. Okay." She glances at her own phone, sitting next to her on the table. "You are going to be soooo late, Griffin. Better get your ass out the door right now." 

"Always an excuse to talk about my ass," Clarke answers and flashes her a lopsided grin. Before she leaves, she grabs her keys from the bowl on the counter. The light jingling of them sounds comforting and familiar, rings of a well-worn and domestic routine that, for a moment, feels like her own. 

* * *

If she goes straight to the hospital, she won't be late. But this Raven knows her, quite literally, better than she knows herself: Clarke will definitely be stopping for a caffeine fix and possibly a quick breakfast on her way. Standing in a crowded subway car, jostled among strangers as they move to a steady rocking rhythm, through mysterious tunnels underground, she can’t stop herself from smiling with the wide, giddy, irrepressible grin of first love. She's in love. And it feels new and exciting and purely, wonderfully good.

She's felt variants before but never anything quite like this: settled and safe, a love that is routine now for this other version of her, but a constant and wondrous surprise for Clarke herself. Like the tiny flower she spotted growing up in a crack in the sidewalk when she first stepped outside and breathed the clear, cool, old-Earth air.

People in the past hurry with a different urgency than she is used to. They have places to be, but their lives do not hang in the balance. The tension she's known for years, of an enemy at the gate, has dissipated so utterly that it is as if it never was.

Her usual coffee shop is down the street from the hospital, right at the corner of two busy streets. The tables outside beneath the green awning are almost all taken, and the inside is more crowded still. A long line winds from the counter, along the glass display case of muffins and scones, and jumbles up with the disarray of tables and spindly-legged chairs. She glances at her phone, hopes she has time.

The line moves swiftly for a time, and then she finds herself stuck right in front of a very tempting basket of chocolate muffins. Whether her other self would buy one of the muffins is unclear. Perhaps she, too, would find herself debating—

"The only way we're touring Europe on our honeymoon is if we rob a bank."

Clarke jumps. _Rob a bank,_ she thinks. The words resound as a distant and tinny repetition in the back of her mind, as if somehow hearing them again and again would allow her to place that oddly familiar tone.

"So? We rob a bank."

She's tense again, as aware of her own body as if she were on watch, creating her own invisibility by the careful intakes and outtakes of her breath, counting her heartbeats. She glances to her right out of the corner of her eye.

And then exhales. And feels foolish.

Murphy and Emori are sitting next to her, at a table so close that she could kick Murphy's chair leg if she only stuck out her foot. They haven't noticed her, but she isn't surprised. They're so focused on each other that even their twin coffee mugs have probably gone cold. A mess of black and white printouts and glossy travel brochures are spread out across the rest of the small surface.

Instead of a tattoo on her face, Emori has a similar pattern inked along her arm. She wears a brace on her left wrist, instead of a glove to hide her hand, and she's dressed in the same dark browns and grays of Sangedakru, though in an old-Earth style. Murphy looks almost exactly the same, right down to his haircut—except that she can just make out the tail end of a tattoo like Emori's snaking out beneath the edge of his t-shirt sleeve. As Clarke watches, he picks up Emori's hands and kisses the knuckles, and adds, "That could be the honeymoon, part one."

"Don't tempt me," she murmurs, and pulls him in for a kiss.

_They're happy, too._

The honeymoon. The travel plans. The simple white stone in the ring on Emori's finger.

Emori pulls back from the kiss slowly, as if she too were suddenly and uneasily aware of something not-quite-right nearby. Her eyes narrow as she turns, catches Clarke's eye, and frowns. "We're not really going to rob a bank, you know," she says. "You don't have to stare."

"Oh—sorry." An unpleasant heat has risen to her cheeks. Was she staring? She feels the aftermath of a smile on her face, now turned into a slack-jawed and embarrassed blank expression from which there is no easy recovery. The hard, disapproving tone of Emori's voice has caught her off guard. "Um—congratulations."

"On what?" Murphy asks. He hasn't let go of Emori's hands, and the sweet gesture does not pair well with the suspicious glare he's turned on Clarke.

"Your—engagement. Sorry. I overheard."

Just overheard. Everything she knows about them, she knows from her other life—her real life—and from what she's pieced together by looking at them. They're staring at her as if she were a stranger. And if they are anything like her Murphy and Emori, they're not keen on strangers knowing their business.

Murphy grunts, and looks briefly embarrassed himself. "Thanks," he mumbles. Emori doesn't say a word. The person behind Clarke jostles her impatiently, and she realizes the line has started moving again.

* * *

The word 'hospital' still makes Clarke think of the medbay on the Ark. A new word, from a new language, must be found to describe the building where this version of herself works. She stands at the edge of the parking lot with her head tilted back, so that the building seems to cut into the clear and cloudless sky, counting the number of stories and the rows of windows glinting sharply in the sun. All of Alpha Station could probably fit into this massive structure, or at least one of the smaller stations like Mecha or Farm.

Inside, the tiled floors squeak beneath her soles, reflecting blurred yellow streaks from the lights above. Doctors and nurses hurry down the halls and patients gather in square waiting rooms, around coffee tables littered with glossy magazines. A television plays on mute next to the reception desk. At first, Clarke has no idea what to do or where to go. Luckily, a moment's pause gives her clarity. Deep down, she knows what she needs to know about everything here: the strange computers and other tech, the foreign instruments, the initially indecipherable patients files—more about medicine, too, than she ever got to learn in her short apprenticeship on the Ark.

She takes her midday break in the staff room on the third floor with her second cup of coffee and the chocolate muffin she bought and stashed in the back of her favorite cabinet. This pastry is not on the same level as Mount Weather's chocolate cake—but it’s better than anything she ate in the Alpha Station cafeteria, either up in space or later, on the ground. Luckily, the room is almost empty, and the only other occupant is a doctor standing by the window with his back to her. He’s too busy listening to the person talking to him on his phone to pay attention to her. So no one notices the disgustingly pleased expression on her face as she bites into a surprise chocolate chip, or hears the quiet moan she swallows down. Not even the satisfaction of eating panther meat she caught herself compares to the delicious simplicity of ancient Earth baked goods.

"Yeah—I know," the other doctor says. She startles, immediately sitting up straight in her chair. She’s on high alert—not just because for a moment she thinks he might have read her thoughts, but because she recognizes his voice. As she watches, he half-turns from the window, and she catches his profile for the first time.

Clarke pauses with her coffee mug halfway to her mouth. Her eyes narrow.

"Nate," Jackson says, then cuts himself off, his mouth still half-open as he nods along to whatever Miller is saying—and it must be Miller, Clarke thinks, her own Nathan Miller on the other end of the line. "Nate, it's really fine. Dinner at your dad's this weekend is no big deal. Just tell me what to bring...Yeah, I'm going to bring something! You want me to make a good impression, right?" He grins, and Clarke smiles too, a faint echo. "Right. So, think about it, and we'll talk tonight. I gotta go. Love you. Bye."

He hangs up his phone and slips it back into his pocket, turns around at last, and notices Clarke sitting at the table. His smile shades into something more abashed. "Sorry about that."

"For what?" Clarke waves her hand and finally sets her mug down again. "Talking on the phone? I'm not bothered." Not wanting to make the same mistake she made with Murphy and Emori, she scours her memories, searching for what she should reasonably know about this Jackson and this Miller.

If she lets her uncertainty show in her expression, he doesn't notice. "I'm meeting Nate's dad this weekend," he says. "And he's...actually surprisingly nervous about it." A half-smile then, obviously fond. "It's cute."

Clarke's own expression eases, some of the tension loosening from between her shoulder blades. So they are friends—or at least reasonably close acquaintances, perhaps nothing so distant as she and Jackson were in her real life. "That's a big step," she says. And then more tentatively, because she cannot find even the slightest memory of what Miller might look like in this time, she adds, "What's the step after that? Office holiday party?"

Jackson rolls his eyes. "Maybe. It might take some convincing to get him to dress up."

"Well, try," Clarke insists. "I want to meet this mysterious boyfriend." Rather, she wants her other self to meet him. Maybe this is pushing at the boundaries of the rules, but she can't imagine a life where she never meets Nathan Miller. He was Bellamy's right-hand man from their dropship days, one of the survivors of Mount Weather, delinquent turned member of the Guard. 

But he's none of those things in this life. She imagines he's still brave, and funny, and loyal—knows when he doesn't have to take himself too seriously and when it really counts. She wants this old Earth version of her to know the man who told her it was okay to close the dropship door, even if he'll never have to. Maybe in this other world, they can have a friendship that is easy and light.

"I'll try, but no promises," Jackson answers. Then he sighs, and his eyes flick toward the clock hanging above the door. "Break's just about over. Hey—any hints on what Raven's big surprise tonight is?"

The simple question throws her off balance again—maybe they are closer than she thought. She sits back briefly, blinks down at the dark navy rim of her mug. "Oh—no. Unfortunately."

"Just tell me if it's a proposal, so I can start trying to convince Nate to go to the wedding," he grins. In another moment, he’s heading toward the door. Clarke slumps down in her chair, suddenly boneless. The words echo: a big surprise. 

A proposal? Could that be among her experiences here?

She picks at the rest of her muffin, and when her break is over she returns to work.

* * *

Clarke takes the long way home, a stroll through the park in the endless, bright summer afternoon. She never got to do this in her time, on her Earth. Even after Mount Weather, when she was always alone, she quickly became nocturnal and remained hyper-aware at all moments of the possibility of being found and seized. She had no rest. She couldn’t take her time to appreciate the world around her. And Eden was only one spot of beauty in a wasteland, a precious outlier. This world, she gets to appreciate in a different way. She can take slow, deep breaths of the fresh air. Threats do not lurk around the corners, and no boundaries exist. The warmth of its sun is unfiltered but soft. Birds chirp in the trees, and there are people sitting on the park benches and playing games on the grass and walking and biking along the path. None of them know her or care what she is doing, but their presence all around her reminds her that she's not alone.

The path curves gently ahead of her, then merges with another, before leading straight on to the gates at the other end of the park. She slows down as she reaches this final stretch, caught off guard by the presence of three teenagers gathered around the closest bench. One dark-haired boy in a faded t-shirt is rolling back and forth in front of the bench on some sort of—perhaps a toy—

( _Skateboard_ , Clarke's mind supplies, and whether this is a word she remembers from her reading on the Ark, or another stray bit of knowledge from this other Clarke’s mind, she can’t quite tell.)

When he turns, describing a lazy half-circle on the path, she sees that his shirt says EARTH DAY 1998 in faded letters on the front. So even though he's looking down at his sneakers she knows who he is. And for a moment, it hurts.

She recognizes his friends, too. Another boy with similarly well-worn shoes and baggy cargo pants is sitting on the bench and strumming a guitar. The first chord sounds rough and slightly jarring. He frowns down at his fingers, adjusts them slightly, and tries again. The other friend, a girl, is balancing on the top of the bench, her feet in thick-soled black boots planted on the seat and her arms crossed over her knees. Her hair, loose and wind-blown and tangled, falls down to either side of her face, but when she pushes it back behind her ear Clarke sees her profile clearly: the familiar dark eyes and sullen expression, the corner of her mouth nevertheless turned up into a quarter-smile.

Octavia Blake, all of fifteen years old again, faded mosquito bites on her bare arms, a rip in the knee of her jeans. And Monty, just as young, shaking his head to get his hair out of his eyes. And Jasper, smiling brighter than she can ever remember him smiling on Earth—unless it was that first manic day on the ground—easy in his balance as he rolls along the path. Clarke can hear the clatter of the skateboard wheels against the pavement, louder than her own footsteps, easily drowning out the breeze that shakes the tree branches and rustles through the leaves.

"So are you going to try that trick again or what?" Monty asks, as Jasper comes to an abrupt stop just short of the curve in the path.

"Yeah, I want to see this," Octavia adds. She sits up straighter, curling her fingers around the top of the bench. Her smile curls, too—like a dare—and she lifts her eyebrows. Jasper shrugs, an embarrassed, nervous air to the way he fidgets and delays. Like he doesn't know what to do with his lanky limbs, or how to look at her, or how not to.

But he draws himself up anyway—something familiar there, Clarke thinks, in the transparent way he makes himself look brave. "Okay, okay. I got it to work yesterday, so—yeah, should be fine."

The other two are waiting, expectant. Monty's dropped his fingers from the frets of his guitar, his other arm curled loosely over the instrument, and Octavia has trained her narrow-eyed, judgment-ready face precisely on her friend.

Jasper takes a deep breath.

Clarke has stopped by now, at the edge of the path, so absorbed in the moment that she feels apart from herself, uncertain of this body she’s been given. Watching them again, these old friends who feel like ghosts to her—Jasper and Monty, alive again and young and unburdened, and even Octavia with the air of an apparition from another life—has made her so light-headed that she's not sure if she's about to laugh or cry or faint. Perhaps all three. She loves them more than she did Jackson, Emori, Murphy, or even Raven, loves them in a miraculous way. People she's mourned, now returned to her.

As she stares, her lungs too heavy in her chest and a stop in her throat, Jasper balances himself on the board again and starts to move. He gains speed. Then he jumps and tries in the same movement to turn the board beneath him with his feet. He trips over it instead and has to jump back down to the pavement. The skateboard clatters on its side next to him.

"Ooooh, very nice," Octavia cheers, slow-clapping as she grins. An embarrassed blush rises to Jasper's cheeks and he rubs at the back of his neck, not quite looking at the others. But Octavia's taunt is gentle. Clarke has heard true rancor; there is none in her voice.

"I swear,” Jasper insists, “I did get it to work once—"

“He did,” Monty backs him up. “I saw it.” 

Octavia seems skeptical, so Monty shrugs and adds, "I mean, it was only the once, but...."

"Proves I can do it, though!" Jasper says, easy now, leaning over to pick up his board. His smile’s got some confidence in it again, but when he tries to catch Octavia’s eye, he finds that her attention has wandered. 

She’s watching Clarke, her eyes narrowed. After a moment, she leans down and pokes Monty blindly in the side.

"Hey," she murmurs, not so quietly that Clarke cannot hear. "That lady's watching us."

The other two follow Octavia's lead as she points with her chin toward the side of the path, and Clarke unthinkingly raises her hand to wave.

Monty waves back tentatively.

"Hey," Jasper stage-whispers to him, poking at Monty's foot with his foot. "Didn't your parents ever teach you about stranger danger?"

Monty shrugs. "She doesn't look too threatening to me."

Clarke tries her best to make her thin, uncertain smile as trustworthy as possible, knowing they’re still watching her with curiosity as she sticks her hand back in her pocket and forces herself, at last, to turn on the path that curves away from them.

* * *

Raven isn’t home when Clarke returns, but there’s a note attached to the fridge: DRESS UP NICE. So she does. She wears her favorite blue dress and the earrings Raven bought her for her birthday, takes pleasure in this knowledge she has now of this other life. A comfortable life. Her people are alive and safe and happy, and maybe this other Clarke does not think of them as hers, but she knows the truth.

That’s all that matters, she thinks to herself, as the hostess leads her through the crowded restaurant to a table set for two in the center of the room. Raven hasn’t arrived yet. Clarke sits down, smoothing out her dress over her knees. In front of her, a stout white candle flickers, and all around her she perceives only a steady white noise of clinking silverware and muted conversation, and in her own thoughts a gentle quiet.

Could this truly have been her life? If someone, long before her time, had made different choices, could everyone she loves have known peace?

Could she have known peace?

When Raven shows up she apologizes for being late, then leans down for a kiss that sends a soft warmth, like the chandelier light above them, suffusing through Clarke’s chest. Raven sits down across from her and the waiter appears to bring them bread. They share stories about their respective days. Exchange jokes about the inscrutable items on the menu. Split an appetizer. Hold hands across the table.

She is in love. This is not an imitation feeling, something borrowed from her other life, or seen through glass; she loves Raven in a well-worn and comfortable way, but it hits her like new love because she's never been allowed a love that has had its time to grow. She picks up Raven's hand and kisses her knuckles.

"What was that for?" Raven asks, gently teasing.

Clarke shrugs. "I just...wanted to."

"You're in a surprisingly good mood today." Her eyes narrow, imitating suspicion. "Do you have good news, too? Are you trying to upstage me, Griffin?"

"No. No." She holds her free hand up like a surrender, gestures for Raven to go on, and then picks up her fork again. She'd rather not explain herself. She'd rather not speak at all, but only continue eating—the food at the restaurant is so exquisite that she doesn't mind letting her true reactions show. Surely even this other Clarke does not eat this well every day.

"All right, well." Raven gives Clarke's hand one final squeeze, then let's go. She sits up straight and takes a deep breath. "You know that promotion my boss has been hinting about?"

She doesn’t. Only vaguely, and only after a moment’s thought. But she nods anyway as she pulls the last wandering string of spaghetti into her mouth, politely hiding her face behind her hand as she finishes chewing. 

"So, he brought it up again today and...” She fakes a little drumroll against the table, and Clarke gestures for her to go on, go on, no more suspense. Raven grins and announces: “I got it! I'm in!"

"You're in?"

"I'm in! Special project, here I come!"

She's barely controlling the volume of her voice, smiling so wide and so bright that Clarke feels the emotion reflected within her too. She reaches across the table and grabs Raven's hands again, and holds on to them as tightly as she can. If she could, she'd stand up and shout; she'd pound the tabletop.

"With the extra money, we might be able to afford a bigger place...Who knows what else?"

"A dog?" Clarke asks, quirking her eyebrow up.

"Maybe," Raven answers. She leans in, as close as she can, the flames from the candle reflecting off her skin. "Maybe even a dog."

"I could kiss you."

"Dare you to."

She stands up part way and leans in closer and meets Raven in the middle—kisses her, all too aware still of their hands entwined and the warmth of the candle flame beneath them.

Around them, the restaurant erupts in cheers and applause. Clarke pulls back as if shocked. She meets Raven's gaze, and a sudden bubble of laughter rises up in her chest. "Do you feel like we're being watched?" she whispers, but the words are distorted by the confused, uncertain, nervous giggles that she's still biting down.

"Mmm, I don't think they're clapping for us," Raven answers. She flicks her gaze over Clarke's shoulder.

Slowly, Clarke sits down and turns around to follow Raven's stare.

At the table behind her and slightly to the right, a man has gotten down on one knee.

"Yeah," Clarke echoes, but her voice sounds faint—sounds like something distant, from another life. She feels herself deflating, boneless, the rounding of her shoulders and her hands empty in her lap. "I'd say probably not."

_Just tell me if it's a proposal._

Maybe in another life. Maybe another day in this one, another day she'll never see. But right here and right now, she's sitting across from Raven, and Bellamy is opening a small, black velvet jewelry box and presenting another woman with a ring.

He looks happy.

He looks like he's in love. She's close enough to see a faint, watery glint in his eye and the restaurant has gone quiet now so she can hear what he's saying, though only some of the words make it through the sick haze in her head. He loves Gina's pure heart. He wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He wants to honor her as her husband—

Clarke can only see Gina in profile, the soft curls of her hair, the expression on her face undoubtedly fond even as it is distorted with pure shock and surprise. She looks familiar, but Clarke cannot quite place her. Someone she saw in passing sometimes on the Ark. That other life.

And in another life still, she’d danced with Bellamy—she’d pressed her face against his neck, she’d told him she’d love him in every universe.

But Bellamy isn't hers anymore. Not here. And the friends she saw in the coffee shop and the park are not her friends. And in this life, they probably never will be.

At the next table, Bellamy asks, "Will you marry me?" and Clarke hears the words but does not hear them. She sees Gina wordlessly nodding, unable to speak, pulling Bellamy toward her, kissing his forehead as he reaches for her hand. But she also does not see any of this at all. She feels him hugging her. Every time he has hugged her. Welcoming her home. Saying goodbye. Bringing her back to life. Just because he can.

"Do you mind if I—?" she asks faintly, mostly down to her plate, gesturing behind her to where she thinks the bathrooms might be.

"Yeah, of course." Raven leans in, presses her hand to Clarke's wrist. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, yeah." She puts on her brave smile and she kisses Raven's cheek before she walks away. Maybe it's not what this other Clarke would do, but she knows her time is coming to an end here, so she doesn't care.

In the bathroom, she leans heavily on the marble sink and looks at herself in the mirror. She looks like herself, just as she's always been. She sees the haunted look she's become accustomed to, and she knows that it's her real self staring back at her. She cannot see the other Clarke, except in superficial ways: the earrings, the dress. That matters little now. The dizziness has started again, the tugging feeling, the sense that she is dissipating. She feels faint. She holds on tightly to the sink edge so that she doesn't fall.

And then she falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you liked this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated! 
> 
> Make sure to follow kinetic-elaboration on [Tumblr](https://kinetic-elaboration.tumblr.com/). Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MadsWritesStuff). And Brooke on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/broashwhat/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/broashwhat) for more of their creations! Come scream with us wreckjrothclub on [Tumblr](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, Clarke visits a universe very similar to her own past...with one notable exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three is here—we hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Chapter written by [Miranda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myonetruelove/pseuds/Sparklyfairymira).  
> Intro by [Mads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/changingthefairy_tale).  
> Moodboard by [Miranda](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Both Miranda and Mads are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

  


  


Back in her mindspace, Clarke can’t help but stare at the drawing of the universe she was just in. It’s such a different life from her own, a decision that must have changed decades before she was even born. 

  


“You’re very perceptive,” Bellamy’s voice startles her a little as he comes up beside her. God, coming back out of these universes is going to take some getting used to. “That universe is a product of Becca Pramheda never creating ALIE. The world before lived on.” 

  


“I thought we talked about you staying out of my head.” She raises a pointed brow at him, and he just gives her that classic Bellamy smirk. Once again her heart churns at the sight, and she wonders if seeing her best friend’s face on someone—or something—that’s not really him will ever get any easier. 

  


She wishes it really was him, even if it would be nearly impossible to face him after everything she’s done. Anything would be better than this torture. Anomaly Bellamy gives her a sympathetic look that tells her he knows exactly what she’s thinking, but he thankfully doesn’t comment. 

  


“So that version of Clarke...she never meets Monty, Jasper, Octavia...Bellamy?” she asks, changing the subject. 

  


“No.” 

  


“That’s sad,” she murmurs softly, looking back at the drawing. 

  


“To you, yes. But to that version of Clarke, knowing them is inconceivable.” Clarke nods weakly, but the thought doesn’t make her feel any better. Despite the traumatic circumstances that brought her found family together, she truly couldn’t imagine her life without Monty’s quiet smile, Jasper’s infectious laugh, Octavia’s fierce gaze...Bellamy’s annoying smirk. 

  


“How many universes exist like that? Where I don’t know any of my friends?” 

  


“That’s impossible to calculate, Clarke. And there’s no use in knowing regardless. There are realities where you are together and others where you aren’t. Realities where you’re happy and realities where you’re not. Realities where you exist and realities where you don’t. And in every reality where Clarke exists, that life is the only one you’ve known.” 

  


Clarke still can’t quite wrap her mind around it, how these stones somehow hold infinite universes filled with infinite versions of everyone alive. She’ll probably never be able to grasp it fully if she’s being honest with herself. 

  


So instead, she searches for another universe to see, something that’s more familiar. And when she spots a scene with tall trees and the outline of the dropship, she heads straight for it. 

  


“You may not want—” but his warning is cut off as she reaches out to touch the wall, falling into a reality hopefully happier than her own. 

  


* * *

  


Clarke’s eyes fall shut against the bright light—confusing her because she’s suddenly outside with the sun shining in her eyes. She blinks a few times, recognizing that Raven is standing in front of her speaking. But she can’t quite make out the words. She’s still disorientated with this whole getting dropped into another universe thing. 

  


“Clarke? Are you even listening to me?” Raven asks, one hand on her hip as she raises an eyebrow. 

  


Clarke shakes her head, trying to clear it. “Yeah, I’m listening. Sorry. So you and Monty aren’t there yet?”

  


Raven frowns, eyes narrowed. “No, we’re not.” She pauses. “Are you okay?”

  


“Yeah, I’m fine.” Clarke forces a smile, wondering when the memories will come to her so that she knows what the hell is happening in this universe. She sees the dropship over Raven’s shoulder and recognizes the red jacket that Raven wore when she first came to the ground. At least she knows where she is—it’s better than nothing.

  


Clarke jumps as arms wind around her waist, pulling her flush against a hard body. She stiffens immediately. 

  


“Want to go take a break in my tent, Princess?” Bellamy’s breath is hot on her ear and even without the nickname, she would’ve recognized his voice and his scent anywhere.

  


Clarke yanks herself from his grasp, eyes wide as she turns to face him. “What the fuck, Bellamy?”

  


Bellamy chuckles as he glances at Raven. “What? Are you worried about Raven? It’s not like she doesn’t know what’s going on. She’s a genius after all.”

  


“I am a genius and I don’t appreciate your tone, Blake,” Raven snarks. She sighs, turning back to Clarke. “Clarke, come find me when you’re done with him and we’ll finish talking.”

  


Clarke doesn’t respond as memories begin to rush over her—memories similar to her own with one major difference. This Clarke is sleeping with Bellamy and has been since day one. Holy shit. Instead of a steady train of girls in and out of his tent, Clarke’s been the only one. At first, it had been a secret but now it’s just something none of the delinquents talk about. Probably because when Dax had made a comment a few days back, Bellamy had knocked him out.

  


Co-leaders and friends with benefits—that’s how they’ve classified themselves. But Clarke knows that this Clarke loves this Bellamy, just like she loved her own Bellamy. There’s a small tightening in her chest at the memory of him, the one that she herself killed. But she can’t focus on that. That’s not the universe that she’s in right now. Things are different here. This version of Clarke and Bellamy are different. 

  


Her eyes dart up to meet Bellamy’s to find him still looking down at her expectantly, smirk firmly in place. “Are you playing hard to get today, Princess?”

  


Clarke swallows hard as her body reacts to the way he says Princess. This Clarke is very into sleeping with Bellamy—who is she kidding? She’s really into sleeping with Bellamy. But that wouldn’t be right, would it? She’s not his Clarke. She opens her mouth to tell him that now isn’t a great time, but she surprises herself when something completely different spills from her lips. “A break in your tent sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  


Bellamy’s smirk turns into a lopsided grin as he grabs her hand and starts dragging her toward his tent. What is she doing? She can’t do this. This is a terrible idea. But damn, she wants it. 

  


“Hey, Bellamy, Clarke,” Monty calls out as they pass. 

  


Clarke’s head whips to the side to see him and Jasper sorting plants. They look so young. Everyone does. Jasper’s head lifts and he meets her eyes, grinning. “Remember to keep it down, Clarke.”

  


Clarke’s face immediately flushes a deep red as she jerks her head away, almost running into Bellamy who has stopped and turned to glare at Jasper. “What have we said about that, Jasper?”

  


Jasper’s eyes widen as he looks between Clarke and Bellamy. “Ummm, not to say things like that. It’s rude.” His eyes lock on Clarke’s. “Sorry, Clarke.”

  


Clarke shrugs. “It’s fine.”

  


“It’s not,” Bellamy growls, eyes still locked on Jasper.

  


Clarke rolls her eyes, shoving at Bellamy’s chest. “I thought we were going to your tent?”

  


Bellamy’s eyes drop down to her and his face immediately softens. Clarke’s heart soars and she doesn’t know if these are her feelings or this Clarke’s feelings, but she’s overcome with love. She doesn’t hesitate as she lifts on her toes, pressing her lips to Bellamy’s. 

  


Bellamy is stiff for just a moment before wrapping his arms around her, pulling her more firmly against him as he deepens the kiss. All around them, she can hear the whoops and cheers of the delinquents, but she can’t bring herself to care. She’s kissing Bellamy—that’s all that matters.

  


“I’m pretty sure we should head to my tent now.” Bellamy chuckles as he pulls away. “Unless you want to put on a show for the kids.”

  


Clarke slaps at his chest. “No, I do not want to put on a show.”

  


Bellamy shrugs. “Just making sure because I thought we weren’t doing this,” he gestures between the two of them, “in front of them.”

  


Clarke swallows. Oops. She shrugs, going for nonchalant. “Things change.”

  


“Yes, yes they do.” Bellamy presses another kiss to her lip before grabbing her hand and dragging her toward his tent. He pushes open the flap and spins around, lips on hers again before she’s fully inside the tent.

  


Bellamy’s hands slide under her shirt, sliding across her bare skin. She moans against his lips and he laughs. “Eager today, are we Princess?”

  


“For you? Always,” Clarke whispers as his lips make their way down her neck, sucking at her pulse point as another moan escapes her mouth.

  


“Maybe Jasper did need to remind you to be quiet,” Bellamy says as he pulls away to look down at her. “Not that I don’t love to hear how much you’re enjoying yourself, but the tent walls are thin as you well know.”

  


Clarke bites her lip as she looks up at him. She knows that he’s right, but she is so keyed up right now that it’s hard for her to think. She wants his hands, his lips everywhere. She wants him. She wants what she and her Bellamy never got. She knows it’s wrong, but she can’t help herself. It’s what she wants. She has to know what it’s like just once. 

  


“I’ll be quieter.” Clarke nods, mostly to herself. “Just don’t stop.”

  


“Oh, I’m not stopping.” He chuckles as he slowly pushes her shirt up and over her head, leaving her in just her bra. His eyes immediately darken with desire. 

  


Clarke slides her hands under his shirt, mapping his abs, his back—his everything. She knows she has to commit this to memory because this isn’t something that she’ll ever get again. This is her one chance to know what it’s like to be with Bellamy. 

  


She pushes those thoughts from her mind as her grief begins to weigh heavily on her. She can’t think of that now—there will be time to mourn later. For now, she wants to focus only on this moment in time, on his hands on her waist and his lips on her throat.

  


She grips the bottom of his shirt, pulling it upward until he helps her pull it over his head. She takes a moment to let her eyes rove over him, her own hunger building inside of her. She doesn’t think as she moves to press a kiss to his chest, hands roaming. 

  


Bellamy’s patience appears to be waning as he grabs her wrists and pulls her away from him before leading her to his bed. He pushes her and she tumbles onto her back, bouncing once on his makeshift bed while he reaches down to unbuckle his belt.

  


Clarke doesn’t hesitate as her hands move to her own pants, flicking open the button and pushing them down her legs as quickly as she can. Her eyes never leave Bellamy as he removes his pants. The man is built like a god. 

  


Bellamy smirks as he climbs onto the bed, caging her in with his body before leaning down to kiss her—one that knocks the breath from her lungs. Her nails dig into his back as the kiss deepens. Bellamy presses his body against hers and Clarke takes this as an opportunity to rut against him, a desperate attempt to chase the release that is slowly building inside of her. 

  


“So impatient today,” Bellamy laughs as he pulls back with a shake of his head. He doesn’t wait for a response as he dips back down, lips trailing kisses down her sternum as his hands find their way to her breasts, squeezing and massaging them through her bra. 

  


This feels like torture—Clarke needs his hands on her skin. She reaches behind her, flicking open the clasp on her bra and shrugging it off. She can feel his laughter against her chest, but he doesn’t say anything as his hands find her now bare breasts.

  


Clarke bites her lip to keep in a moan as he trails his hands over her hardened nipples, mouth now making its way over her stomach. Her hands find their way into his hair and she can’t help but sigh as she discovers his curls are as soft as she always thought they would be. . 

  


He kisses along the top of her panties as he rolls her nipples lightly between his fingers. The next thing she knows she can feel his hot breath over her center and then his nose is pushing aside her panties. She holds her breath, but can’t hold back the moan that spills from her lips as he licks a stipe up her center. She almost doesn’t notice when his hands leave her breasts, trailing down her body to grasp her panties before pulling them down her legs, his mouth only leaving her for a moment. 

  


Bellamy’s mouth latches onto her clit, sucking gently as his finger moves over her center, collecting her juices. He groans against her as he easily slides one finger and then two inside of her. 

  


Clarke’s hips move against his face as her fingers pull at his hair. Bellamy’s other hand lands on her hip to hold her in place as he begins to move his fingers, his tongue circling her clit. On the next thrust, Bellamy crooks his fingers and hits her g-spot. Clarke’s eyes roll into the back of her head as her back arches off of the bed. 

  


Small pants fall from Clarke’s lips as she moves against his hand and mouth, and she’s so desperate for release. She glances down her body, meeting Bellamy’s eyes. And as he pushes his fingers into her once more, brushing over her g-spot, she feels herself falling over the edge.

  


She bites her lip to keep from calling out Bellamy’s name, digging her fingers into his scalp as he continues to work her through her orgasm. It’s the best orgasm she’s ever had in her life, and a part of her knows that it’s because Bellamy is the one that gave it to her. And she’s sure that it’s not anything specific that he’s done, but the fact that it is him between her legs—something she’s imagined more times than she’d like to admit. Her body sings with energy as she quakes beneath him, and it’s over much too quickly for her taste. She collapses back onto the bed, panting and spent. 

  


Bellamy grins up at her as he slides his fingers from her, bringing them to his mouth to suck her juices from them. And damn if that isn’t the hottest thing she’s seen in a long time. Nope, she takes that back. Her eyes widen as Bellamy ducks back down, licking at her center. She’s a little sensitive, but she can’t bring herself to ask him to stop.

  


Her hands that had fallen back to the bed find their way to his head once more as his tongue—his oh so talented tongue—slips between her folds. She glances down at him to find his eyes shut as he hums against her, sending shivers down her spine. 

  


Bellamy’s thumb brushes over her clit causing her back to arch off of the bed and a moan to spill from her lips, “Bellamy…”

  


He doesn’t stop but his eyes do open and she sees the warning there—she’s getting too loud. Honestly, she almost doesn’t care. The things he’s doing to her body...well, everyone should know just how much she’s enjoying herself. But she also knows that this isn’t her life and that this Clarke would not approve, so she bites down on her bottom lip so hard that she tastes blood as he works her up again. 

  


Clarke’s second orgasm doesn’t build up like the first—no, this one takes her completely by surprise. One moment she’s moving her hips languidly against his mouth and the next she is falling over the edge. Her hips cant against his mouth rapidly because she cannot control them. She feels like she’s having an out of body moment as her body responds in a way that it never has before. 

  


“Mmmmm,” Bellamy moans against her center before pulling back to look up at her, grin firmly in place. “Those are my favorite.”

  


Clarke is confused for a moment which must be apparent on her face because Bellamy just chuckles as he moves up the bed to press his lips to hers. She tastes herself on his lips and it’s heavenly. 

  


“It must’ve been really good if you didn’t notice,” he mumbles against her lips. 

  


And that’s when she realizes what he’s referring to. Holy shit—had she just squirted? She pulls back to see that Bellamy’s face is wetter than it should be and she’d honestly just thought it was just a myth. 

  


Clarke jerks Bellamy back down for another kiss before flipping them over so he’s on his back. She moves down his body, pulling his underwear down as quickly as she can. And there it is—his cock in all of its glory. She has to get her mouth on him. She takes him into her hand, stroking a few times to get a feel of it, only to realize that this body knows exactly what he needs. 

  


She twists her hand on the upstroke causing Bellamy to throw his head back, groaning softly. She grins, ducking her head down to press a kiss to the head of his cock. She wants to take her time with this, but she doesn’t know how much longer she’ll be here for and she wants him to fuck her. 

  


With this in mind, she takes his cock in her mouth. It’s been a while since she’s given head so she doesn’t want to rush it, but also she really wants to rush it. On each bob of her head, she takes a little bit more of him into her mouth until he hits the back of her throat. Instead of backing off, she pushes a little further so she can take as much of him as possible.

  


Her gag reflex starts to kick in as his fingers tangle into her hair, urging her on. Clarke fights the reflex, swallowing which draws another groan from his lips. Clarke can’t help but moan around him. 

  


“Fuck,” Bellamy stutters out before pulling her mouth off of him, eyes wide. “Unless this is how you want to end things I recommend stopping.”

  


Clarke licks her lips as she looks down at him, grinning. She likes that she’s making him lose control. Her hand is still stroking his cock as she moves up the bed, making it easy for her to line him up with her center.

  


Bellamy pushes up as she slides down, both of them moaning once he’s fully seated inside of her. She feels so full and this is something that she could get used to—even though there’s a voice in the back of her mind reminding her that she can never have this again. 

  


She shakes her head as if this will clear these thoughts from her mind, knowing full well that’s not how it works. But as her eyes meet Bellamy’s she can feel all thought leave her mind. The desire in his eyes matches what she feels—what she wants. 

  


When Bellamy’s hands land on her hips, spurring her to move she slowly rises before sinking back down. Her head falls back as sensations run through her body. She thinks that she would be okay to just sit here on his cock for a bit, but fucking him feels amazing. She braces her hands on her thighs as she continues to move, moving fast with each pass. 

  


As she moves she feels her breasts bouncing with her frenzied movements and wonders what she looks like to Bellamy. Her eyes pop open and she finds Bellamy’s eyes locked onto her breasts as if mesmerized. She guesses she looks good, but as her eyes zero in on his lips she has to kiss him. She leans forward, pressing their lips together while trying to keep her pace, but she’s faltering with the distraction of his kiss. 

  


Bellamy uses her distraction to flip them over so that Clarke is on her back. He continues to kiss her as his hips begin a punishing pace. It’s Clarke that breaks the kiss as her head falls back, another moan spilling from her lips in the shape of his name as he hits just the right spot.

  


Her nails dig into his back as his hands grip her hips hard enough that it’s just this side of pain. She moves her hips against his as they both chase their release and she’s close, oh so close. She can already taste the ecstasy when he suddenly changes his positioning and then he’s hitting her clit with each thrust. 

  


Just a few thrusts later she’s falling over the edge, biting down on her lip to remain as quiet as possible—which isn’t very quiet, apparently. Bellamy pushes into her a few more times and then he’s stiffening and her name spills from his lips as if it’s a curse. 

  


Bellamy collapses on top of her and she knows that she can’t support his weight for long, but it’s comforting. His weight reminds her that he’s there and he’s her’s—even if it’s only for a few moments. She clings to him as she remembers how to breathe, but it’s his breath against her cheek that brings tears to her eyes.

  


Her Bellamy doesn’t have any breath left in him and that’s on her. She turns her head away not wanting him to see her cry. This has nothing to do with him or even this universe. This is just the pain inside of her that she caused herself. 

  


“Hey,” Bellamy says as he cups the sides of her face in his hands. “Are you okay?”

  


Clarke tries to stop her tears, but as she looks up at him she can’t bring herself to. “Will you hold me?”

  


Bellamy doesn’t hesitate as he rolls off of her and brings her to lay on his chest. He doesn’t say anything as he cards his fingers through her hair. Clarke lets her eyes fall shut as she presses her ear to his chest. Hearing his heart beating so strongly just causes more tears to fall, but she doesn’t fight them. She doesn’t have it in her to do so.

  


The sound of his heartbeat starts to lull her to sleep just as she starts to feel light-headed.

  


No, she’s not ready to go. She’s not ready to leave him.

  


She squeezes her eyes shut as if she can fight it—even though she knows she can’t. But she needs more time with Bellamy. She wants to stay in his arms. The last thing she feels before she’s pulled away is his lips on her forehead.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steamy, amiright? We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos always appreciated 
> 
> Make sure to follow Miranda on Tumblr and Twitter, Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MadsWritesStuff). Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We'll see you guys on Thursday for Ch. 4!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke finds herself in another universe so very similar to her own, except one little detail that has changed—changing EVERYTHING.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four is here—isn't it nice getting regular updates! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Ali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Princess_Blake/pseuds/Miss_Princess_Blake).  
> Intro by [Mads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/changingthefairy_tale).  
> Moodboard by [Jo](https://bookwormforalways.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Both Ali and Madison are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out [ our carrd here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/).

Clarke knows she’s back in her mindspace, but she doesn’t want to open her eyes. The last thing she wants to see is the freckled cheeks of the man who just spent the better part of the last few hours with his head between her thighs. 

Logically, she recognizes that it’s not actually Bellamy. And moreover, anomaly Bellamy has access to all of these alternate realities and knows exactly what just happened. So the way her cheeks are blushing at the idea of looking at Bellamy after the best sex of any life she’s been in so far—her own included—is irrational. And yet. 

The clearing of a throat makes her open her eyes, and she’s shocked to find someone else’s amused grin looking back at her. 

_Josephine._

“What the fuck are you doing here? The last person I want to see is you,” Clarke all but sneers. 

Josephine just raises an eyebrow. “One,” she holds up one finger, “I’m not actually Josephine, and you know that. Two, this is your mindspace, so apparently, I’m not the last person you want to see. Three, I’m fairly certain your curly-haired boy-toy is the actual last person you want to see right now.” 

She smirks at Clarke, who wants to punch her even though she logically realizes that it’s not the real Josephine. Of all the people, her subconscious had to pick Josephine. 

Her body is tense, that leftover relaxation from that previous reality fading quickly. Where’s her next alternate timeline? She’s got to get out of here. 

“Not so fast. Now my curiosity is piqued. Why _would_ your mindspace pick your...nemesis? Is that what you and Josie are? Surely not besties, since you killed her. Though, you called Bellamy your best friend _a lot_ before you, ya know.” She clicks her tongue, mimicking a gun with her hand. 

She takes it back. She takes back not wanting to see Bellamy. Clarke closes her eyes again, willing for it to be him when she opens them. God, just about anyone would be better than seeing Josephine in her mindspace again. 

“That’s not how it works, Clarkie.” 

Fuck. She puts an impassive mask in place, opening her eyes again. It’s not really her, it’s just the anomaly’s manifestation of her. A manifestation that has access to all of her memories from every lifetime. Wait. 

“Is Josephine such a bitch in every timeline?” Clarke asks brazenly, her own curiosity getting the better of her. Josephine is dead—at least the Josie she knows—and the anomaly would hardly be offended by her question. 

“That’s rather subjective, don’t you think?” Josephine shoots back, eyes narrowed. One arm rests across her torso, and she’s got one hand lifted to twist the ends of her hair. 

“Fine. Is Josephine such a homicidal psychopath in every timeline?” 

“Do you murder the unrequited love of your life in every timeline?” The rebuttal takes Clarke aback, and her eyes sting with sudden tears at the blow. But she just takes a deep breath and clenches her teeth. She isn’t going to let Josephine see her cry, even if it’s not really her. 

Instead, Clarke just meets her eyes unflinching. And after a moment, she gets what she wants when anomaly Josephine huffs a sigh. Note to self, anomaly Josie is not as stubborn as the real one. 

“I told you before. People are an amalgamation of their experiences and choices. So, different choices and/or experiences equals different 

“But core personality traits would remain the same.” 

“No one is _born_ a ‘bitch’ as you called her. Just like no one is born a dictator or a murderer...or Wanheda.” Anomaly Josephine gives Clarke a pointed look, and she rolls her eyes. It’s honestly a little bit worse that it’s not the real Josephine because this one is making good points that irrationally make Clarke angry. 

But she turns over the words in her mind anyway, thinking them through. It’s hard to wrap her mind around because Bellamy has remained the same in every universe she’s been to so far, but then again...maybe there are some core experiences that have remained the same in each universe she’s visited to shape him into that person. His upbringing or his sister. 

Would he have been so naturally protective of the 100—of Clarke—without having practically raised Octavia? Would he have been so self-sacrificial if his mother hadn’t been that way as well? 

And if not, what does that mean for everyone else? Would Cadogan have been a good man if he hadn’t made certain choices or experienced certain things when was younger? Would Pike have massacred the grounders if his Earth landing had been different? 

Would she have still been willing to pull the lever at Mt. Weather if her mother hadn’t made the same rationalization when she floated her father? 

She remembers something her mother told her once: _Maybe there are no good guys._ Maybe there are no bad guys, either. Just people doing their best with the hand they were dealt with in each timeline, unwittingly playing chance with each decision. 

Maybe there are timelines out there where Pike is a happy school teacher who teaches unruly kids how to use history to make a better future. Maybe Cadogan is just a regular father of two who loves his wife, makes avocado toast on Saturdays, and never crosses paths with Becca or the anomaly. 

The thought is equally relieving and unsettling to her, and she looks around for a distraction from the idea. Anomaly Josephine is just standing there, studying her with a smirk on her face. She definitely followed that whole revelation in her head, but the other woman doesn’t comment. 

Instead, she nods her head to the nearest wall, silently giving Clarke what she wants—a distraction. And after a quick glance at Josephine to make sure there are no warnings for the image she’s hovering her hand over, she reaches forward to skim her hand over the drawing of a star-speckled window. 

Once again, she falls. 

* * *

All around Clarke is fire—burning. Everything around her is nothing but searing heat and pain, endless pain. Nothing she does is helping, no matter how much she screams, no matter how much she thrashes. She can’t even open her eyes fully from the heat and the brightness. All she knows is the sound of Praimfaya barreling towards her and burning everything around her. She is barely able to take a breath through the radiation soaked air, just praying she makes it back to the bunker with enough time. The pain on her skin from the rapidly developing welts is too much. 

There is no way she’ll make it. Any second now she is going to see the rocket take off into the sky, and with it her last hope of survival.

Vaguely, somewhere in the back of her mind, she hears someone calling her name but she can’t concentrate on that over the sound of someone screaming in anguish. It takes a long moment for her to realize the screaming is coming from her.

“Clarke,” she hears the voice say. But she can’t quite place it, too consumed by the pain of the radiation soaking into her skin and the burning in her lungs as she runs full speed toward the bunker doors.

“Clarke!”

Finally, her eyes snap open and all she can feel is confusion. Gone is the fire, the heat, the pain. Instead, she is a little cold, surrounded by metal walls and scratchy sheets, and that incessant machine hum that has followed her since she was a child.

“Hey,” the voice says again, behind her, she realizes, and much more familiar this time. Its timber makes her feel safe for the first time in what could be forever. “It’s ok. It was just a nightmare. I’m here. You’re ok.”

It hits Clarke like a punch to the gut as realization sets in. What she saw wasn’t just a nightmare, but a memory—her memory. Or at least parts of it are. She can tell it’s not quite the same. She shakes her head, not understanding what it all means. Through the cloud of confusion, though, there is one thing that’s clear.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, half a whisper from her thrashed throat. She must have been screaming for a while. But all she can focus on is the feeling of Bellamy, warm and solid, surrounding her. It brings tears to her eyes. 

“I’m here and you’re safe,” he says, rocking her gently. That’s when things start to slot into place.

She’s in a bed, a real bed, and from the window, all she can see is the vast expanse of space. Fragments of memories of a life that isn’t hers begin to flood her system, just pieces of images that don’t make sense. Everything is disjointed and out of sequence. There are images she knows aren’t hers and in her nightmare-addled state, she can’t reconcile this other Clarke’s memories with her own.

Clarke made it back to the rocket; they were able to wait one more minute which was just enough time. Bellamy was waiting for her and she had collapsed into his arms. Days and then weeks of radiation sickness had followed where he wouldn’t leave her side. And then… peace, love, happiness.

While she isn’t totally sure on the timeline, it seems like maybe about two or three years have passed? And the whole time, Bellamy has been by her side.

Despite herself, despite knowing none of this is really hers, she can’t help collapsing back into his arms, letting his shoulder just a bit of her pain as she had done so many times before.

As she begins to calm her breathing and the flow of tears stops, she turns around and is met with Bellamy’s warm and concerned eyes. He tucks a messy lock of her hair behind her ear and smiles at her.

“Hey,” he says, “do you want to talk about it?”

Clarke huffs a humorless laugh. If he only knew how many things she wants to talk about. But she knows there’s no point mentioning any of that, so she just talks about her dream instead. “It was terrible. I was back in Praimfaya. Everything was burning. I didn’t make it back in time and you had to leave. And everything was just pain. God, there was so much pain.”

Clarke chokes on a sob and tucks her face into the crook of Bellamy’s neck, as he runs a hand up and down her spine.

“It was just a nightmare,” he tells her. “And I know that nightmare is one of the worst ones but that’s all it was. We waited for you. We all got here safe. And we are all going to go home in a few years and finally, finally get some peace.”

She pulls back and looks at him. She can’t help but smile as she studies his face. He was so much younger than her Bellamy in so many ways. This beautiful man, still so full of conviction and dreams. God, she has missed this Bellamy, the one who somehow always managed to have hope, despite the horrors of the ground. 

“I don’t know,” she says. “It kinda feels a lot like peace in this bed with you, up here where there are no grounders or wars or tests for our soul.”

“You kinda lost me on that last one,” Bellamy says with a confused grin.

She shakes her head. “Never mind. The point is we are here, we are safe, and we are happy. I just want to enjoy that with you for as long as I get to this time.”

Bellamy smiles at her a bit sadly but nods. “I think that can be managed.”

He kisses her then, long and slow. It’s the kiss of a man who has done this a thousand times before and knows he will do it a thousand more. For him, there’s no rush because they will do this tomorrow and the next day, and the next. They have time. For Clarke, it’s everything she can do just to hold on. She can’t believe she ever thought there would only be one version of her and Bellamy that ended up here, ended up together. She lets herself let go as she just enjoys being with him.

Later, when they are both long satisfied and her own memories feel more like a distant, long ended dream, she is content to just lie on his chest and listen to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

She is beginning to learn it is best to just go with what each reality is giving her, and if this reality wants to give her this… well she certainly isn’t going to complain.

Still, alternate reality or not, she does seem to have to operate under normal bodily functions as her loudly growling stomach indicates. 

“Come on, Princess,” Bellamy whispers into her ear, “let’s go get you showered and fed. Monty is probably just about done with our breakfast algae.”

His voice betrays his lack of excitement.

Clarke laughs, turning over to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “It can’t be that bad. It’s not like it’s going to be worse than what you are expecting.”

Bellamy groans, throwing an arm over his eyes before finally, reluctantly getting up.

They take a long, hot shower together, likely longer than necessary. But she revels in the feeling of his skin beneath her fingers. He is warm and solid and _here_. She wishes she could hold onto him forever.

When they finally make their way to the mess hall, she can’t stop the tears that well up in her eyes again at the sight of Monty and Harper, and she throws herself into her old friends’ arms. She had nearly forgotten that she would be able to see them here.

“What’s with her?” Murphy quips.

She hears someone smack him followed by his swearing and some snickering but she doesn’t care.

“It was a rough night,” Bellamy explains. “Another Praimfaya dream.”

“What a shitty way to start the day,” Harper says, eagerly returning the hug. “I’m sorry you had one again. But at least it’s been a while, a few months I think?”

Clarke smiles and pulls back to look at her friend. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well,” Raven says from her place between Murphy and Emori, “maybe a bit of exciting news will help cheer you up.”

“No one cares about the spare parts you’ve been able to salvage, “ Murphy mutters under his breath. Raven smacks him again. “That fucking hurts, stop it.”

“Shut up, Murphy,” she snarks back. “Ignore him. What I was going to say is I was digging through some more of the files in comms the other day and I stumbled upon some old Alpha Station files. I didn’t think much of it but when I finally got them decrypted they were filled with some great stuff. Music, sports, even movies!”

“That’s awesome,” Monty says. “We should totally have a movie night.”

“Sounds fun,” Murphy deadpans as he stabs at his algae, “I can’t wait.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, plopping down across from him. “Don’t be such a spoilsport. It will be fun and you know it.”

Murphy stares at her a moment and then smirks, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Fine, but I get to pick the movie.”

Everyone throws their napkins at him and boos but Clarke just laughs, catching Bellamy’s eye from his place at her side. He beams at her and she can’t resist wrapping his arm around her waist and just breathing in the scent of him that surrounds her. Somehow, hundreds of kilometers from Earth, he still manages to smell a bit like a forest and a hell of a lot like home.

Looking around at all her friends, laughing and smiling, Clarke can’t help the pang of sadness that shoots through her chest. She never got a chance to have this. There was never time. But up here, they have six years of it. It makes her realize why they had all grown so close in her time, and why she could have never fully fit in once they got back.

Clarke smiles and excuses herself, making her way to the nearest bathroom.

She just stands a moment, looking in the mirror. This face has such fewer scars compared to her own and is still framed by long hair that she never cut because it never got in the way while she was hunting. This version of herself never had to wonder what it would be like to have Bellamy Blake love her because he already does.

Splashing cold water on her face, she does her best not to cry. In the end, this life isn’t hers. But she has the opportunity now to enjoy it and bask in the warm glow of contentment this Clarke got a chance to build.

“Suck it up, Griffin,” she tells her reflection. “Don’t waste what little time you have feeling sorry for yourself in a fucking bathroom. Go be with the people you love.”

With a final deep breath, she puts a smile back on her face and heads back to find the others.

“Hurry up Clarke,” Raven calls from the comm room, “or Murphy is going to end up winning the vote for what movie to watch. And personally, I have a feeling that watching something called _Sharknado_ does not sound like it’s going to be your thing.”

Clarke grins and slots herself by Raven’s side as she looks over the movie options.

“While I will admit that movie has its comedic merits—” Clarke starts.

“See!” Murphy interrupts but wisely shuts his mouth when Raven sends him a sharp look and Emori laughs.

“What I was going to say is there are much better options,” Clarke says as she scrolls through the options, trying to find something she thinks they all will enjoy.

“Sometimes I forget that you were basically royalty when you all lived up here and have probably already seen all of these,” Emori comments, amazed.

Clarke laughs. “Not all of them, but a lot. Wells and I used to have a movie night every Friday in my living room, and we switched off what we would watch. We would save up all our credits to get whatever junk food we could and then watch all kinds of things.”

“Sounds nice,” Raven says. “I wish I could have known him.”

Clarke looks at her friend and smiles. “I have a feeling you two would have really gotten along.”

“Me too,” Raven says.

“Oh here’s one!” Clarke says, her attention snapping back to the screen, grinning triumphantly at what she had found.

“ _Mean Girls_?” Bellamy reads over her shoulder. “Really?”

Clarke laughs. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do,” he replies.

“I think it sounds great,” Monty says, reading the description. “Is anyone besides Murphy opposed?”

“Hey!” Murphy shouts, indignant. When no one else speaks up he lets out a long sigh. “Fine, _Mean Girls_ it is.”

“You’re going to love it,” Clarke tells him.

The group manages to pack whatever semi-comfortable furniture they can into the room that Raven has set up to show the movies on the wall. It reminds Clake so much of the times she used to share with Wells all those years ago and she can’t help the warm pull of nostalgia for her oldest friend.

The movie gets going and Clarke makes herself comfortable in Bellamy’s arms as he cards his fingers through her curls. She realizes, in that moment, that she’s never been as comfortable in her real life as she is here with him. She is glad that, in some universe, there is a version of herself that gets to have this every day, even if she never did. And she is happy to settle for now.

This life is a good one, though she knows not all of them will be if what she has been told is true. Here, she gets to do combat training with Echo to keep herself strong, play soccer with Raven and Murphy in the empty halls of her old home, and learn new things about technology with Emori by her side as they fumble through some old instruction manuals. And at the end of every day, she gets to fall into bed in the arms of a man she has loved in her world for over a century.

She wishes she could experience all of it. This glimpse, or whatever you want to call it, isn’t enough—it never could be. But she won’t waste it.

By the end of the movie, everyone is hungry and they make their way back to the mess hall. They laugh about what they saw, quoting their favorite lines to each other, and it really feels like they are a family.

Clarke supposes that’s what they actually are.

Before they can head to bed, Clarke finds her way to the old viewing deck and stares out at a radiation ravaged planet with the tiniest spot of green. A part of her aches for the small child down there, all alone, and she sends a prayer to the universe that her child is safe. Still, there is something so disconcerting about being up here when she remembers what it was like down there, even when that feels like an entire lifetime ago. Although, she supposes it really was.

Bellamy finds her soon after she arrives and wraps her in his arms.

“Bell,” she nearly whispers, unable to look at him. “What if I hadn’t made it to the rocket that day and you had to leave me behind? What if I hadn’t made it up here with you?”

“But you did make it, Clarke,” he tells her, turning to look in her eyes. “You are safe with me and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Clarke smiles but shakes her head. “I know that, but just... What if? What does that world look like to you?”

“Well,” he says, “it’s not like I haven’t imagined it in my own nightmares. God, I would have been a mess without you. I don’t even think I would have been myself. But I'd like to think that there would have been a part of me that would have believed that you somehow made it. That you were alive down there and I would get to come home to you.”

Clake chokes on a sob. “I really wish I could believe that was true.”

Bellamy looks at her sadly and kisses her forehead. “The good news is we will never have to find out.”

“Bellamy,” she sighs, running a hand across his cheeks. “I should have told you so long ago how much I love you. We could have had so much more time.”

“Shh,” he says into her hair, pulling her close. “Don’t talk like that. We have each other now and that’s what matters.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says with a watery smile, “you’re right. And I plan to make the most of it.”

She leans up then and kisses him hard, pulling their bodies flush together. The kiss quickly turns heated as he presses her into the window, her earlier commiserations forgotten. They are both panting by the time they pull away, her hands tangled desperately in his hair, unwilling to let him go.

“Take me to bed, Bellamy,” she demands, voice soft in his ear.

His grin is wolfish when he picks her up, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as he carries her all the way back to their room and lays her on the bed.

They take their time, Clarke learning every inch of this Bellamy’s body—knowing it would likely be the last time she could in this reality. After all, she has no way of knowing how many more lives she would get to see and how many more of them would see the two of them together. 

So Clarke lets go and allows herself to enjoy her time with him, and he returns her attention with just as much enthusiasm. He knows her body the way only someone who loves you can, and she just hopes she is able to give him as much pleasure as he is giving her.

Despite this not truly being her reality, loving Bellamy is written into her DNA and they are finished far before she wants them to be. Still, she can’t deny she is more satisfied than she has ever been in her life.

And maybe ever will be again.

As they are lying together, she starts to feel the pull. Her time here is over. Clarke can’t help the tears that spill from her eyes. She isn’t ready.

“Clarke, baby, what’s wrong?” Concern laces Bellamy's voice as he wipes away her tears.

“God, I don’t want to lose you again,” she tells him, kissing him and holding him as tightly as she can.

“You won’t,” he says. “I won’t leave you. I promise.”

She wants to stay here forever but she knows she can’t. She doesn’t have that power and this isn’t her life.

In her life Bellamy is dead, and she’s the one who killed him. And nothing that happens in any of the universes she bears witness to will change that.

“Bellamy,” she says against his lips. “I love you.”

As her head begins to feel light she knows she is out of time. She kisses him one last time, his name whispered against his lips as a final goodbye, and then it all fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, what could have been... We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos always appreciated.
> 
> Make sure to follow Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MadsWritesStuff), Ali on [Tumblr](https://slyth-princess.tumblr.com/) and Jo on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bookworm4alwayz) for more of their works! Come scream with us wreckjrothclub on [Tumblr](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram!"](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)
> 
> We'll see you guys on Sunday for Ch. 5!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke stumbles upon a familiar scene in her mindspace, and her curiosity throws her into a universe where she gets to experience how things could have been different if Bellamy had asked her one simple question only a few weeks prior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by [Hannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellarke_Stitch_Delena/pseuds/Bellarke_Stitch_Delena).  
> Intro by [Mads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/changingthefairy_tale).  
> Moodboard by [Carrie](https://carrieeve.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Hannah, Madison, and Carrie are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out [ our carrd here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/).

When she opens her eyes this time, Bellamy is the one standing in front of her. Relief floods her. She doesn’t know if she could take another round of Josephine.

At the look he’s giving her, she rolls her eyes. “I know it wasn’t Josephine, and I know you’re technically the same person—er, manifestation?—just wearing a different face. But you’re also wearing a different personality, and it makes a difference.”

His smirk grows into an amused smile at her rant. “I wasn’t going to comment.”

“But you were making that face that Bellamy always made when he was about to lecture me on some technicality,” she argues back. He may not actually be Bellamy, but he still has his mannerisms.

Anomaly Bellamy just raises his hands in mock surrender, that stupid smile never leaving his face. She sighs, the ache of that smile ricocheting inside of her chest. When is she going to stop feeling like someone is twisting a knife in her heart when this not-Bellamy does something that reminds her of him? And if the answer is never, which is what she suspects, then why does her mind keep choosing to see him?

Rather than think too hard about the answer to that question—an answer she knows she’s not ready to truly consider—she walks down a new hallway. This one curves around toward her mom’s old office, and she remembers her dad walking her down this hall to see her mom when she worked late.

Bellamy is a prominent feature in many of the pictures she sees. There’s one of just him smiling at her, his hair cropped shorter than she’s ever seen it. Another shows them relaxing at a table in the infirmary of the Ark, him in a guard uniform. Another shows him at Anya’s side, war paint on his face as Anya offers them sanctuary with TriKru. Yet another shows them holding hands at a wedding altar, her dad and his mom standing witness beside them on the ground in a compound she doesn’t recognize.

“In how many universes do we end up together?”

“Do you really want to know?” he says, coming up beside her. They are shoulder to shoulder, closer than he normally stands, and she shivers involuntarily at the nearness. It’s not truly Bellamy, but her body doesn’t seem to recognize that. She still feels his presence like a magnet—like she always has.

She thinks over his question. Does she really want to know? Would it help her make her decision? Probably not. But her curiosity has always been a borderline flaw. Hell, it’s what got her into lockup and sent down on the dropship in the first place.

“Yes.”

Anomaly Bellamy seems to do his own thinking, mulling over whether to tell her or how much detail to give. But after a few seconds, he sighs and bites the inside of his cheek. “More than not.”

Her eyes close at the admission, a wave of emotion she can’t quite identify washing over her. There’s relief there, at the idea that there are so many lifetimes where Clarke knows what it feels like to be loved by Bellamy. There’s sadness at the knowledge that her lifetime was one of the minority where she never got to experience it. But there’s also vindication at the confirmation that perhaps their souls were connected after all.

Clarke doesn’t believe in soulmates, but this makes her think maybe she and Bellamy are as close as it gets. It’s a romantic notion, one he’d tease her for if he was here. And it’s one that makes her want to roll her eyes at her own foolishness. But the thought takes root in her chest anyway.

“Does the knowledge help at all?”

She feels a tear make its way down her cheek as she stares at a familiar scene, Bellamy’s hands holding one of hers as she sits up on a small cot. Is this another version strikingly similar to her own where things end differently for her and Bellamy? Everything inside of her wants to find out.

So she reaches out, ready for the weightlessness that takes over her as she descends into darkness again.

* * *

Clarke is a little disoriented. Which she should have expected, as this happens every single time she is dropped into another universe, but it still throws her off. Although, to be fair, this is only the fifth time she has visited an alternate version of her life, but still. She feels like she should have been prepared for the confusion and fogginess that would come.

On the plus side, however, Clarke knows exactly where she is this time. She's in Gabriel's tent, sleeping on the cot in the corner. She looks around and sees Bellamy standing a little out of reach, staring at a map on the table in front of him.

She starts to fully awaken, shifting around on the cot and getting Bellamy’s attention. He looks up from his map at the sound of movement and rushes over to her with a glass of water. He puts an arm around her back and helps her sit up, making sure she is stable before handing her the glass of water.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks from where he kneels next to the cot, ducking his head a little to look into her eyes.

She nods her head. She has a feeling that this Clarke would do the same thing, regardless of how she is actually feeling (which was more like she got run over by one of Sanctum’s motorcycles).

Bellamy starts speaking again. "I don't know what I would have done if you didn't pull through.” He shudders and looks at his hands. “I don't think I would have survived you dying again," he confesses.

Clarke takes his hand and waits until he looks up at her again. "I only survived because of you.” She tells him, her voice starting to grow thick with the tears building behind her eyes. “If you hadn't told me to fight, I wouldn't be here right now."

All Clarke can think of is how true that is, that if it wasn't for him, she would be dead. She looks at this version of Bellamy, who looks at her with so much love in his eyes, something that she was never able to recognize before. She is so mesmerized by the emotion in his expression that she almost misses what he says next.

"I love you."

Clarke takes in a deep breath. She has been in enough universes to know that what he says is true, but she doesn’t want to ruin anything with him in this version of their lives.

"I love you,” he says again, leaning forward as if to make sure she hears him. “And I don't want to waste any more time fighting unnecessary battles and being separated from you. Let's run away from here." He rushes through the last sentence, letting out a breath and looking at her earnestly.

"What?" Clarke asks, not sure she heard him correctly. Running away and leaving their people behind was the last thing she would have expected him to suggest.

"Everyone inside Sanctum is safe now, and we don't need to go save them.” Bellamy huffs and shakes his head, looking at the ground.”Quite frankly, I don't want to go back to them anyway."

Clarke’s jaw drops. She is shocked by the words coming out of Bellamy's mouth. How can he say that? As much as she would love to say yes, to leave the expectations and the crushing weight of leadership behind, what about Madi? She would never leave her behind, even if all of Sanctum was safe.

Suddenly, she has a daunting thought—what if Madi doesn’t exist in this universe? As soon as the thought crosses her mind, however, the memories begin to flood in and she realizes that Madi does exist here, and is essentially the same as the Madi from her world.

Still dumbfounded by his suggestion, she swallows and asks, "What about Madi, Bellamy? I can't—I _won’t_ —just leave her behind, even if she is safe."

Bellamy takes Clarke’s hands in his, staring up at her with hope and more than a little apprehension. "I have that taken care of. She's on her way and she'll be here soon."

Clarke contemplates it—she wants to take that leap, to be with him in a world so similar to the life she lived—but she's scared. The inside of her head is screaming _JUST GO, YOU IDIOT_ but she can't get past her feelings of obligation to the others.

Clarke is about to tell Bellamy no when Gabriel, who Clarke forgot was even in the tent, pipes up.

"Look Clarke, I don't mean to eavesdrop, but as someone who has lived a long time—we don't have all the time in the world,” Gabriel says, some grief lingering in his voice. “If I had this opportunity, I would have taken the offer and ran far away from all the fighting and the trauma.”

Octavia pokes her head in from outside the tent, where she was clearly eavesdropping, and says, "Not that I get an opinion on your lives, but I agree with Gabriel on this one, Clarke.” She gives her a small, sad smile. “You deserve to be selfish for once in your life."

At that, Clarke starts crying and Bellamy immediately wraps his arms around her. Over Bellamy’s shoulder, she sees Octavia hold open the tent flap for Gabriel, and the two go outside to give them some space.

After a few minutes, once her tears have stopped cascading down her cheeks and she can actually speak again, Clarke pulls back and looks at Bellamy. She nods her head and squares her shoulders before finally responding to his idea. "Okay. Let's go."

Hope and joy transform Bellamy’s features, and for a moment she thinks he is going to lean in and kiss her. He seems to settle for lifting her up off of the makeshift bed and hugging her again.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" he asks, lowering her so that her feet touch the ground, but not letting go.

"I'm positive.” She grins, leaning her head back so she can look at him. “I don't really want to live in the place where my body was taken over by a two-hundred-year-old daddy’s girl with a god complex anyway.”

Clarke hesitates, before asking what she had been wondering since he first mentioned running away. “But what about you? Are you sure you wanna do this? What about Echo and the others?" Clarke may not like Echo very much, but in this universe, she's still Bellamy's girlfriend, and she needs to be considered too.

"Echo and I broke up before I came out here to get you back. We had a talk, and honestly, I should have broken up with her the second we found out you were alive," Bellamy blurts out almost before she can finish her question.

Clarke is stunned. She can't believe it. They broke up? Because of her? That is not what she wanted at all. "Bellamy, I-"

Bellamy is shaking his head, cutting her off before she can apologize. "It wasn’t your fault,” he says, before adding, “And you don't have to say anything right now. I know you've just been through something traumatic, and I kind of just dumped a lot of information and feelings on you. Let's wait until Madi gets here, and then we can talk to Gabriel about places we can go."

Clarke nods her head, already feeling overwhelmed by everything that has happened in the past few minutes. Bellamy guides her back to her seat on the cot, and Gabriel and Octavia come back into the tent with some food. They sit down beside Bellamy in front of Clarke's makeshift cot and begin to eat.

Clarke is pleased to note that Bellamy and Octavia seem to be more content with one another now, and while there is still some tension between the siblings, they are clearly on the right path. It seems like this version of Bellamy and Octavia have already had a talk, most likely while Clarke was sleeping. Or maybe the falling out between the siblings wasn't as bad as it was in her universe. Either way, she likes it, and she watches them while picking at the food Gabriel placed in front of her.

When the tent flap opens Bellamy, Octavia, and Gabriel all jump to their feet, prepared to fight if they have to, but relax the second they see who comes through the opening. Clarke gives an exasperated sigh and a happy smile spreads on her face when she sees who it is.

"Madi." She grins, a sigh of relief escaping from her lips.

Madi runs to Clarke but pauses for a brief second when she stands in front of the cot. "Is it really you?" the young girl asks fearfully.

Clarke nods her head. "Yes. It’s really me, baby."

Madi practically jumps into her arms and immediately bursts into tears, and Clarke’s own tears start flowing shortly thereafter.

Clarke peers through her tears and sees she isn’t the only one. Looking around the space while she hugs her daughter from this universe, she sees tears welling in both Bellamy and Octavia's eyes—and even Gabriel and Murphy, who brought Madi into the tent, have a noticeable glimmer along their bottom eyelids.

After what could only be a few minutes, Clarke lets go of Madi and turns to Murphy. "Thank you for bringing her here."

"It was the least I could do after everything." Murphy takes a deep breath and a look of remorse crosses his face. He starts, "Look Clarke, I don't even know where to begin to apolo-"

Clarke stands up and steps in front of him, cutting him off because she needs him to hear what she has to say. "Murphy, you thought that what you were doing was going to keep Emori alive. Everyone in this room understands what it is like to be willing to do anything to keep the people you love safe. So please don't apologize, okay?"

Murphy nods, his head still hanging low and his eyes full of guilt, but he accepts Clarke's hug.

After a few more minutes and a few more hugs, Murphy says goodbye to his friends and heads back to Sanctum while the others finish eating.

When they are done, Bellamy brings up the topic. "So, we don't want to go back to Sanctum,” he starts, looking at Gabriel. "Is there anywhere we can go, or somewhere you know of where we can start building a life—away from here?"

Gabriel stands up, opens a drawer, takes out a map, and lays it out on the makeshift table while the five of them surround it.

"Well, there is this small circle of cabins about 25 miles west of here. The area around it has an early version of the radiation shield that surrounds Sanctum, and I think I could probably get it working again before the next eclipse.” Gabriel suggests, pointing to a small dot on the map.

“I figure we wait until Clarke is strong enough and then we can head that way. Then we can have our pick of the cabins?"

Bellamy, Octavia, and Madi nod their heads, but Clarke just shakes her head no. "I'm strong enough now,” she argues. “We can leave within the hour and just gather our stuff and go."

"Clarke, you literally just died,” Bellamy says, grabbing her hand in his and looking into her eyes with concern. “We can take it easy for a couple of days."

Clarke is having none of it. "No, I wanna get started on our new life and a fresh start, as soon as possible. Don't you?" she pleads.

Bellamy sighs, takes a deep breath, and looks around the room. Clarke does the same thing and by the looks on their faces, they seem to agree with her. Bellamy must see it too because he sighs. "Fine, but the minute I see you getting tired, or anyone else for that matter, we take a break. Got it?"

They all nod their heads and Clarke immediately wraps her arms around him. After a few moments, they break apart and turn to the other three people in the room, all of whom have smug smiles on their faces. Clarke blushes and Bellamy just glares at his sister.

"Okay, let's start packing essentials and then we leave in an hour," Bellamy clears his throat and then tells the group.

Within an hour they are walking west and heading towards the cabins, with Gabriel and Octavia leading the pack and Bellamy, Madi, and Clarke just a few paces behind. They take breaks every two hours, before deciding to get a little sleep after the fifth-hour mark.

Once they’ve managed a few hours of sleep, they start moving again. It takes a few more hours but they finally make it to the circle of cabins, and Clarke doesn’t know if she has ever seen anything more beautiful.

"Here we are—home sweet home," Gabriel says to them. "Pick whichever cabin you like, they should all be empty. I'm gonna go take a nap, yell if you need me." Gabriel heads toward the closest cabin.

Octavia calls after him, "Hey, can I live with you?"

Bellamy and Clarke share a look while Gabriel stops in his tracks, floundering for a minute before he finally responds, "Why would you want to do that?"

Octavia shrugs. "I don't exactly like being alone, and no offense to Bellamy and Clarke, but I don't want to live with them. So would you mind?"

Gabriel pauses and looks back at Octavia before shrugging and saying, "Sure, I guess. If you want to."

Octavia heads toward the cabin he was heading towards, brushing past him on her way inside. Gabriel turns to Bellamy and Clarke in bewilderment and they look away, not wanting anything to do with whatever that situation is.

Once Gabriel makes it inside his cabin, Bellamy and Clarke turn to each other.

"So, did you want to pick your cabin first?" Clarke asks Bellamy.

He shakes his head and pauses, "Well, I thought I would be picking a cabin for both of us.” He hesitates, before asking, “If that's okay?" Clarke’s heart soars and she nods.

She turns to her daughter. "Well, Madi, would you like to do the honors?"

Madi picks the one the farthest from Gabriel and Octavia's cabin, and once they get inside she picks her room and goes to unpack, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone in the living room.

"So, we should talk," Clarke starts and Bellamy nods, gesturing toward the chairs in the corner. Once they are both sitting next to each other, Clarke starts again.

"So you said something earlier, and with all the change and excitement, not to mention coming back from the dead, I never got a chance to respond," she says.

From the look on Bellamy’s face, he knows exactly what Clarke is talking about. "Clarke, you don't have to say anything. You just being here with me, alive, is enough," he reassures, placing his hand over hers on her lap.

Clarke shakes her head. "No, I want to. Plus, after everything, you deserve to hear this." Bellamy nods and she turns her hand over, interlocking their fingers.

She takes a deep breath before continuing. "Okay, here it goes. I've mercy killed someone, been kidnapped and almost drained of my blood, committed genocide, almost died multiple times, almost lost people I care about—hell, I _did_ lose people I cared about—been left alone on a deserted planet, been paralyzed and brain jacked, and have nearly died more times than I could count,” she blurts out, breathing heavily before adding, “And yet, sitting here in front of you, is the most terrified I have ever been in my life. But if I don't say this now, I’m afraid I never will."

Clarke takes a deep breath and says what she has been wanting to say to her version of Bellamy for years, in this universe that is so similar to the one she left behind. "I love you, Bellamy Blake—I always have and I always will."

And before she can even blink, he's on his knees in front of her, cradling her face, and kissing her. They’re both smiling too much for it to be a great kiss, but she is bursting with joy—happier than she’s ever felt in her entire life. She’s ready to start this new journey, together with Bellamy.

Clarke starts to feel dizzy and she knows that her time here is coming to an end. Even as she feels herself beginning to be pulled away from this reality, she’s happy that she was able to experience this universe—so similar, yet so different from her own—because it’s another glimpse of what could have been. Getting to experience that joy just once, the knowledge that she had a lifetime with the person she loved, was more than enough. That is her last thought before everything fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should. Have. Been. Canon. Also, we love the Gabtavia nuggets thrown in. ;) We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos always appreciated 
> 
> Make sure to follow Hannah on [Tumblr](https://bellarkestitchdelena.tumblr.com/) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/clarkesminion), and Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MadsWritesStuff) for more of their writing! 
> 
> And come scream with us @wreckjrothclub on [Tumblr](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram!"](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)
> 
> We'll see you guys on Tuesday for Ch. 6!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke lands in a moment that she doesn't want to relive, but instead she finds another could-have-been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by [Gilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellybean96/pseuds/Jellybean96).  
> Intro by [Mads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/changingthefairy_tale).  
> Moodboard by [Lea](https://helloeurydice.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Madison and Lea are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out [ our carrd here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/).

A tear slips from her eye as she comes back to herself in her mindspace, and she quickly wipes it away before anomaly Bellamy can see it. It’s no use, of course—he knows anyway. But Clarke’s pride won’t let her cry in front of him—not in front of someone (something?) wearing her best friend’s face. 

“I told you seeing these universes could do more harm than good.” 

“They are helping,” she argues, and she’s a little surprised to find that she means it. Yes, it’s heartbreaking on some level to see all of these lives where things could have ended differently for her—for them. But as hard as it is to experience a life that isn’t quite hers, it also settles something in her soul that she’s been afraid of for so long. 

She loved Bellamy, but part of her always wondered if maybe the universe had something against them. It was like someone else was running her life for her, making decisions behind some screen that would drive her and Bellamy apart. But this proves that isn’t the case. 

They weren’t fated to end tragically. The universe wasn’t pushing them in opposite directions. Someone wasn’t pulling the strings behind the scenes conspiring against their happiness. It was just...luck of the draw and their own decisions. 

It’s freeing, in a way. They hurt, but so does living in a world where he no longer exists. And even though she isn’t technically the one living these other lives—at least they exist. At least he exists somewhere. 

Anomaly Bellamy doesn’t comment, and they are both left standing there staring at each other. He’s looking at her with an expression that she doesn’t recognize, which is worrisome because those were few and far between with her Bellamy—even after Steve indoctrinated him. It’s like he’s trying to work something out in his head, even though Clarke can’t imagine what the anomaly can’t work out between the fact that he can read her mind and has access to everyone’s mindspace who’s ever lived, and it makes her antsy. 

So she turns her attention to the walls, trying to decide which universe she wants to see next. 

She passes one where she and Lexa are curled up on a couch together. And while the thought of her and Lexa having a shot to be happy together makes her smile, she doesn’t have a strong need to experience it firsthand. She had her goodbye with Lexa a long time ago, and she is at peace with her own memories of the former Commander. 

Next to the sketch of Lexa, there’s a shot of her and Raven and Finn at what looks to be a concert? She only knows what that is because of a memory from the life with Raven where she’d never met the rest of her friends. Raven has one arm slung around each of their necks, and they all look so carefree and happy—a gleam in their eyes as if they were just laughing, a streak of some other color (she can’t tell which since it’s drawn in charcoal) in her hair. It’s odd to see another version of herself like this, someone who seems so different from who she is now. 

“What happens to the other versions of Clarke when I get sent into these other universes?” she asks, not turning away from the wall. When no one answers, she looks back over her shoulder to find that Bellamy hasn’t moved from where he was standing, still looking at her with that weird expression on his face. 

“Are you glitching or something?” She waves her hand to get his attention, which finally makes him snap out of it. 

“Sorry, what?” 

“Is my presence boring you?” she smirks. 

“Not at all. Sorry, I was just...well, it doesn’t matter.” Clarke’s always been a bit nosy, but she decides not to push. To be honest, she’s not entirely sure she wants to know this time around. So she just repeats her original question. 

“What happens to the other version of Clarke when I get sent into a different timeline?” 

“Well, you aren’t actually getting sent directly into the AUs. You’re being pulled into the memories of these alternate realities,” he explains. 

“Like a simulation?” 

“For lack of a better term, yes. These are all memories made by a version of yourself. And you’re essentially watching them first-person.” The explanation is a little stilted, as if he’s having trouble communicating it in a way she’ll understand. And considering even this very obviously simplified explanation is going a little over her head, she imagines that the full truth would be miles over her comprehension. Clarke appreciates him trying, though. 

While a little confusing, his explanation does spark more questions. “So I’ve already lived all of these lives? Or, well, another version of me has?” 

“Yes, and no. Some took place over 130 years ago. Some are still happening. But all of the memories you’re experiencing have already happened in some other universe.” 

That definitely grabs Clarke’s attention. “So some of these memories are fresh?” 

“The anma stone will store a day’s memory while you sleep at night. In your timeline, it’s one reason why the Primes had trouble sleeping in the first days after switching a mind drive.” That answer brings up even more questions, but Clarke decides they can wait for later. Right now, she has something else in mind. 

“Show me a fresh memory from another universe. Something that just happened.” She can’t explain why, but the idea of experiencing another life almost exactly as it’s happened is exciting. 

She expects Bellamy to argue with her about it—tell her it’s not a good idea for some reason or another. But he just shrugs in that unmistakable Bellamy way and walks over to the wall. He starts swiping through a carousel of sketches that all look to be in the same universe, which is not something she realized he could do until this exact moment, obviously trying to find something specific. 

_ He’s swiping through the timeline of that universe _ , she realizes after a second of watching him with wide eyes. 

When he finally finds what he’s looking for, he smiles. It’s a boyish grin, like he’s satisfied with himself for accomplishing the task. She can’t help but mirror his expression, a little bit of fondness growing within her for this Bellamy look alike. 

He steps back, and she moves to touch the drawing. “Take it away, Princess.” 

Her stomach clenches at the use of that nickname, but she’s falling into a new reality before she can call him on it. 

* * *

Swaying a little in her seat at the vanity, Clarke stares at her reflection in the mirror in front of her, taking a moment to let this new world’s memories sink into her mind. She’s still on Sanctum, one of their earlier days here, before everything went to utter chaos and they started fighting again. But right now it’s still relatively peaceful, none of them are aware of the dangers and heartaches that are soon going to be upon them.

And, looking down, if the dress she’s wearing serves her memory of her world right, then all that chaos is going to kick off tonight. She knows she can’t change it, though, no matter how hard she wants to try. This isn’t her world. She has to let things play out the way that they do, to just go with what feels natural in this world. Whatever is going to happen, she has to let it happen.

Standing from the vanity, her hair and makeup having already been done before she was dropped into this world, she smooths out the fabric of her dress, taking slow, deep breaths. Tonight’s the big party in celebration of Sanctum’s ‘Naming Day’. The same day in her world where she was body-snatched and set off a whole chain of events. She prays that the same won’t happen to this world’s Clarke. But even if it does, she hopes that some things won’t happen the same way, that things will be dealt with more peacefully and not end in more violence.

Making her way down the steps leading to the main floor of the tavern, she finds it empty and lets out a small breath of relief. She’s still getting used to the idea of being in another new world, vague memories of this timeline still making their way into her brain as she moves across the floor, and she doesn’t know if she’d be able to handle seeing anyone else just yet. She knows she will soon, though, because they’re all at the party waiting for her. She—this Clarke—had told them to go ahead, that she’d catch up when she was ready. That it’d been a while since she got dressed up for anything resembling a party and wanted to savor the moment.

She remembers the way this Bellamy had looked at this Clarke as he left, the smile he gave her, and the squeeze of his hand against her arm. She looks down at her arm and gently grazes her fingers over it, a small smile coming to her lips. It’s been far too long in her world since she’s received the small comforting touches from Bellamy.

What she wouldn’t give to have that again.

Making her way across Sanctum toward the party, she breathes in the evening air as she goes. The light breeze billows through the bottom of her dress, sending the hem of it in different directions.

As soon as she reaches the party, she’s let inside, and the beat of the music and color of the lights immediately fill her senses. The smell of the various foods laid out join the fray and she’s feeling only a little overwhelmed. It’s so similar to her world, practically identical, that it makes her heart ache.

She stands there just inside the entrance, watching the people dancing around to the music and celebrating what’s to come because they don’t know the truth. She spies Jordan and Delilah on the dance floor, much like they were in her world, and her heart clenches at the thought that this is one of their last moments together before the inevitable.

Movement out of the corner of her eyes draws her attention and she turns to see a figure walking toward her. Her breath catches when she realizes that it’s not Cillian like her own timeline, but Bellamy. He’s moving toward her in a way that’s familiar and comfortable, a beautiful smile spread across his face.

He grabs onto her hands before she can say anything and holds them up, his eyes traveling over her body. “Wow,” he says, letting out a breath. His eyes move back up to meet hers. “You look incredible, Clarke.”

She smiles back. “Thanks. You look pretty incredible yourself.” And he does. He’s not wearing anything fancy, just a simple pair of pants, a shirt, and a jacket, but it does him good. He fills it out well and she can’t help the heat that rushes to her cheeks at the thoughts about him that come to her mind. Thank goodness for darkened lighting with multi-colored lights shining all around them.

Bellamy gently tugging on her hands pulls her back into the moment and she finds him slowly backing up toward the dance floor. He’s smiling at her.

She lets out a small laugh when she realizes what he’s trying to do but she doesn’t fight against it. “No, Bellamy.”

“Come on, Clarke. It’s a party, let’s live a little for once.”

She follows him onto the dance floor, loving that she gets to see him so carefree and light right now. It’s amazing, honestly. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him like this in all the time she’s known him. There’s always been something weighing him down. Weighing both of them down. She can still see a hint of something there in his face, but it’s not as heavy as the one she’s so used to. She likes this, a lot.

As soon as they’re on the dance floor, despite the upbeat tempo that’s playing, Bellamy pulls her into his arms, wrapping them securely around her waist. He holds her close, his face burying in her neck as he begins to move them from side to side.

She loops her own arms up around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. She lets her eyes flutter closed as they sway, fighting to keep the tears at bay at how right it feels to be in his arms.

Bellamy’s arms tighten around her just the slightest and his lips press against the skin of her exposed shoulder. It sends a shiver down her spine. “I love you, Clarke,” he whispers, but she’s able to hear it above the music because of how close they are.

It makes her feel things, things she’d sometimes hoped she would feel, but never held onto for too long. And it triggers a memory of this world—more clear and more detailed than any of the smaller memories that have slowly been creeping in since she was dropped here.

_ Watching the ice settle around the inside of Madi’s cryo chamber, Clarke lets out a shaky breath. This is something she never in her life thought she’d be doing. She just hopes that when it’s all over, that when they wake up, everything will be okay and they’ll be able to be back on earth. Hopefully living this time instead of more fighting to survive. She just wants to be able to actually live for a change. _

_ Looking over, she watches for just a moment as Bellamy stands near Octavia’s cryo chamber, waiting as she’s pulled under as well. They lock eyes and she gives him a small nod and what she hopes is a sympathetic smile. He gives her one back. _

_ She goes to move toward her own chamber when Bellamy’s voice calling her name stops her. She turns toward him. “Yeah?” _

_ He swallows thickly, his brows furrowed slightly as he shifts on his feet. “Before, uh, before we both go into cryo, I need to get something off my chest.” _

_ “It can’t wait?” _

_ He shakes his head. “No. It can’t.” He takes a deep breath, shifting on his feet and grabbing one of her hands in his. “I probably should have told you this sooner, should have taken one of the many opportunities that were there and just ran with it.” _

_ Her heart starts racing, forcing her mind not to go there. She can’t let it. “Bellamy…” _

_ “I love you, Clarke,” he tells her with a small smile, looking her straight in the eyes. “I am in love with you. And I think I have been for a very long time.” _

_ She swallows thickly at hearing him say the words she’s always hoped he would. “Bellamy, I...that’s...it’s amazing to hear that. It really is. But you’re with Echo...” _

_ “We broke up,” he responds with a small shake of his head, stepping a little closer to her and holding her hands a little tighter. “I couldn’t be with her anymore, not when my feelings for you never actually went away. I thought you were dead, Clarke, so I tried to push my feelings down, to not let them consume me anymore. But then when I found out you were alive, it all just came rushing back. I have never stopped loving you.” _

_ She nods slowly. “Okay. But I don’t want to just be a rebound for you, Bellamy. If I deserve anything at all in this world after everything I’ve done, it’s that.” _

_ He smiles softly, stepping even closer so they’re toe to toe. “You are not a rebound for me, Clarke. I would never dream of being with you like that. You’re too important to me. And I want you to know that I forgive you. For everything. You were just trying to protect the person you care about most. I can’t blame you for that.” _

_ “She’s my world.” _

_ He lets go of one of her hands, reaching up to brush some of her hair back behind her ear and then gently cup her cheek. He smiles softly. “Well, if there’s any room left, I’d like to be part of that world too.” _

_ She smiles sweetly up at him. “I think I can shuffle a few things around to make some space for you.” _

_ “That’s amazing to hear.” He opens and closes his mouth a few times before letting out a small huff of air, his hand dropping from her cheek to her shoulder and then sliding down her arm to grab her hand again.  _

_ Her brows furrow together tightly as she watches him. “What?” _

_ He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just...I don’t want to rush this, but I really want to kiss you right now.” He gives her a lopsided smile and a one-shouldered shrug. _

_ She smiles, laughing quietly. “Save it for when we’ve woken up. To celebrate earth being habitable again.” _

_ “I think I can do that.” _

Clarke holds Bellamy a little closer as she lets the memory play on repeat. She has to remind herself that it’s not her memory, though. That just like with the other timelines she’s visited, this one isn’t hers. She doesn’t get to stay and relish in being wrapped so warmly in Bellamy's arms whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Bellamy pulls away just slightly and looks down at her with nothing but pure love and concern in his eyes. He cups one of her cheeks with his hand, his thumb gently rubbing against the skin. 

“Hey, you okay?”

She nods, offering him a smile. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just a little overwhelmed by all of this, I guess.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” he suggests. “We could take a walk around the pond that’s outside.” He smiles. “I hear that’s what dates used to be like on earth before the bombs.”

She smiles back, letting a small laugh escape. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

His smile widens and he grabs her hand in his, leading her up and out of the party. He laces their fingers together once they’re alone outside, the entirety of Sanctum being inside partying.

She steps a little closer into Bellamy’s side as they walk, smiling when he lets go of her hand to wrap his arm around her waist and press a kiss to her hair.

“I’m glad we’re doing this. Actually being together.”

She tilts her head back to smile up at him. “Me too.”

He looks down at her with a smile that makes her a little weak in the knees. Thankfully his arm is wrapped securely enough around her that it keeps her on her feet. He’s dipping his head then, giving her a quick, chaste kiss.

But it’s enough to spark another clear, detailed memory of this world.

_ Clarke smiles down at the face of the man she loves as his cryo-chamber slides open, watching as his eyes slowly open until he’s looking at her. “Hey.” _

_ He gives her a small smile. “Hey.” He grunts as he sits up, looking around at all the cryo chambers still closed. “Why’s it just us?” _

_ She shrugs. “I don’t know. But we should probably figure out what’s going on first before we wake up anyone else. That way we actually have something to tell them.” She turns to leave when Bellamy’s hand catches hers, making her stop. She turns back to him. “Bellamy? What is it?” _

_ He laces their fingers together and smiles softly at her. “Before we start doing what we usually do whenever presented with a new situation, I distinctly remember you promising me something for after we came out of cryo...something about a kiss, perhaps? Unless that was just a dream.” _

_ She smiles, shaking her head and stepping closer, a soft smile on her lips. “No. It wasn’t a dream.” She steps in between his legs and runs a hand through his hair and then down to cup his chin, her fingers lightly scratching at the underside of his beard. She doesn’t entirely hate it. “There was just a part of me that wasn’t sure if you’d still want to.” _

_ “Oh, I definitely want to.” _

_ “Good.” Surging down, she connects their lips with as much passion and energy as she can. She’s been bottling this up for so long—never letting herself feel it. But now, with it just being the two of them alone, she doesn’t have to worry about being interrupted or being judged for finally letting herself feel something. _

_ She breaks away from his lips just enough to speak, smiling when his lips chase after hers. “I love you too, by the way,” she tells him breathlessly. “I don’t think I said that yet.” She pulls back a little more to look into his eyes. “I love you so much, Bellamy Blake.” _

_ He smiles brightly, his hands affectionately squeezing her hips. “I love you so much too, Clarke Griffin.” _

She’s smiling when Bellamy pulls away from her lips, one of her arms wrapped around his torso while the other hand has a fistful of his shirt. Every part of her is buzzing, his kiss mixed with the somewhat romantic atmosphere having set off a fire inside of her.

He’s smiling softly, one of his hands brushing her hair back behind her ear and then cupping her cheek. “Are you cold?” he asks, no doubt having noticed the shiver that ran through her spine from the slight chill that’s in the air.

She shakes her head. “I’m okay.”

“Clarke, that dress leaves your arms and legs completely bare.”

“Hate to break it to you, Bellamy, but I’m not so easily taken down by some chilly weather,” she tells him with a teasing smile.

If it’s even at all possible, his smile gets softer. “No, I know. You’re tough. And I love that about you. I’m just sorry you ever had to go through everything you did. I should have been there with you after Praimfaya.”

“Hey,” she says, gently nudging him in the stomach. “Stop that. We’ve been over this. I don’t blame you. And the important thing is that we’re together now and nothing’s going to break us apart.”

He wraps his arms around her again, pulling her closer. “Yeah. We’re forever, you and me.”

“Forever sounds really nice.” She rises up on her toes to press her lips against his once more, relishing in the feeling that it sends all throughout her body.

He kisses her back deeply, tightening his hold just enough to keep her close. He kisses her so deeply and passionately that her toes curl. The fire keeps burning inside her and she wants to be closer to him, never wants to let go.

Before she has time to truly comprehend what’s happening, almost as if for a moment there the real Clarke of this world is in charge again, she’s lying on an unfamiliar bed with Bellamy hovering above her. His hands are roaming every part of her body that he can find, his lips trailing down her skin, drawing noises out of her that she didn’t know she could make.

She curls one of her hands in his hair, gently tugging him back up to connect their lips again. A very large part of her wants this, has wanted it for longer than another part of her is willing to admit. But she wants to savor every moment of it. She doesn’t want this to be over.

* * *

Waiting for her breathing to even out, Clarke smiles when she feels the very familiar pair of arms circle her waist from behind and pull her close. He nuzzles his face against her hair for a moment before settling his head on the pillow and letting out a breath.

“I’m so glad we finally did that,” Clarke says quietly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere around them, running her fingers absentmindedly up and down his arm, a satisfied smile on her face.

Bellamy presses a lingering kiss to her bare shoulder blade. “Me too. It was...way better than I ever imagined it would be.”

She turns her head to smile at him. “You’ve imagined us together?”

He chuckles quietly. “Not all the time. Don’t give me that look,” he says, gently poking her in the side and making her laugh. “But yeah, I’ve thought about what it’d be like to get to actually be with you. Mostly it was while I was up on the ring, thinking you were dead. I thought about all the missed opportunities I never took advantage of. Never telling you how hard and fast I was falling for you.”

She turns in his arms and reaches up to cup his cheek in her hand, lightly scratching at his beard. “Well, no more of that. And it’d be wrong to say I hadn’t thought about it too while I was stuck on the ground without all of you. Madi was great to have around, but it would have been nice to have some adult conversation once in a while. I missed you guys every day. Especially you. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too. But no more of that,” he echoes her words with a smile. And then he’s dipping his head to capture her lips in a sweet kiss, making her insides curl in the best possible way.

She kisses him back just as deeply, smiling against his lips as he shifts so he’s hovering above her, one of his hands curling around her waist. She can’t help the giggle that escapes when he starts trailing kisses over her jaw and then down the skin of her neck. 

A familiar tugging pulls at her gut and she grimaces, trying to push past it. But it’s strong. She knows where this is leading, but she keeps fighting past it for as long as she can. She just wants a few more seconds.

She gently pushes at Bellamy’s face as she laughs quietly. “Bellamy…”

He pulls away just enough to look at her, his eyes half-lidded. “Hmm?”

“I’m tired,” she tells him with a soft smile. “I think I’m getting a headache. I should be okay in the morning, I probably just need to sleep it off.” She winces against the tugging.

Bellamy’s brows furrow. “Hey, you okay?”

She nods, reaching out to grab his hand and link their fingers together. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just...I love you, Bellamy. I need you to know that. And it scares me how much I love you because, in my experience, the people that I love don’t always stick around.”

He smiles softly at her, bringing their hands up to his lips to press a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“No one else I’d rather be stuck with.” She smiles at him. “Will you hold me?” she asks quietly.

“Of course. Come here.” He lies back on the bed and pulls her into his arms, one of his hands cupping the back of her head as the other wraps around her waist.

Clarke holds tightly to him, burying her face in his shoulder and closing her eyes tightly as a few tears slip through. Her arms tighten around him as pulling sensation intensifies, pulling her out of this world, out of this bliss, and back into the void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos always appreciated 
> 
> Make sure to follow Gilly on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/gillybean729/), [Tumblr](https://skyeward-otp.tumblr.com/) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Gillybean729), and Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MadsWritesStuff) for more of their writing! Follow Lea on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/helloeurydice/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/helloeurydice) for more of her creations!
> 
> And come scream with us @wreckjrothclub on [Tumblr](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)
> 
> We'll see you guys on Thursday for Ch. 7!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things Clarke never thought she'd get to experience—some things she never thought she _wanted_ to experience. But this universe shows her a life she now desperately wishes she could have had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by [Emily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilywritesfics/pseuds/emilywritesfics).  
> Intro by [Mads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/changingthefairy_tale).  
> Moodboard by [Elle](https://hopskipaway.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Emily, Madison, and Elle are all involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out [ our carrd here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/).

Clarke feels the lack of Bellamy’s arms when she comes back to herself. She wraps her arms around herself, putting pressure on her torso to try and mimic the sensation but it’s not the same. It would never be the same. 

She wonders if it’s a blessing or a curse, knowing what it’s like to be held by him. She’s no stranger to Bellamy’s arms and hands. His hands have gripped hers when she needed strength, and his arms have caught her when she was falling. Fingertips have grazed her temple, and she’s used him as a crutch when she could barely walk. 

But it’s different to sit in the comfort of his arms and feel what it’s like to be truly surrounded by him. 

When she finally stands up and opens her eyes, anomaly Bellamy is watching her with a concerned look in his eye. She shakes her head slightly, hoping he gets the message that she doesn’t want to talk about it. 

He seems to understand, and instead, he just outstretches his hand. Clarke blinks, just staring at the palm waiting for her own for a second before deciding to go with it. They don’t talk, and Clarke is honestly glad for it. Nothing he says would make it any better anyway. 

Bellamy silently leads her into a room, though it’s not one she recognizes from her childhood on the Ark. Maybe a random room she visited once but has no conscious memory of. He’s obviously looking for a certain scene, a certain timeline he wants for her to visit. 

Part of her wants to ask what it is, but she stays silent as his eyes scan the walls like he’s on a mission. And when he finds it, he pulls her over to it. 

Their eyes meet, his silently asking if she’s ready for this. She only gives a small shrug, but he nods in understanding. He makes a show of taking a big breath, and she follows suit. The small smile he gives her when she exhales is contagious, and she returns the gesture. 

Then he lifts her hand and places it on the sketch. 

* * *

Before Clarke can open her eyes, she feels pain. Debilitating pain. More pain than she’s ever been in before.

“You’ve got this,” Clarke hears Bellamy’s whisper, close to her head. She pries her eyes open and sees that he’s beside her, his hand squeezed into a death grip by hers. He seems to be taking it in stride.

“Let’s focus on breathing, like we practiced,” Bellamy says. Clarke follows him, slowly breathing in and out, in and out. It helps, enough for her to take in the rest of the room, and realize what’s going on.

She’s having a baby.

The memories hit her. Familiar ones, of being put in the dropship and sent to the ground; of figuring out that they landed on the wrong mountain, and heading towards Mount Weather. But there are also unfamiliar memories; of Jasper, not being impaled by a spear on their way to Mount Weather; of Mount Weather being empty.

There are also memories that seem almost as if they could be real. There are memories of her, leading the 100 alongside Bellamy; of the Ark coming down. 

Clarke is hit by another wave of pain. She squeezes Bellamy’s hand even harder. 

She remembers late nights with him, trying to figure out how to get enough food, enough shelter—to be able to survive the winter that was fast approaching, their first one on the ground. A memory enters the forefront of her mind, of accidentally falling asleep on his couch one of those nights, and waking up in his bed, finding him on the couch. 

Someone enters. Clarke almost flinches at the sight of her mother. Of course, her mother isn’t dead in this universe.

“How are you?” her mom asks.

Clarke isn’t sure how to respond. She’s not even sure she can, not through the pain.

“The contractions are getting closer and closer together,” Bellamy says.

“I’ll check, but by the sounds of it, you’re about to have a baby.”

Clarke pushes for 45 minutes. Between the pain, Bellamy next to her, and the flood of memories of a life that will never be hers, Clarke is overwhelmed by emotions.

Clarke screams and cries. Bellamy and Abby don’t seem to think anything of it. Perhaps one of the perks of being in labor. She lets out all of the feelings that she’s been keeping to herself. The guilt, the jealousy, all of it.

Clarke is starting to feel like it all might be too much—too much pain, too much anguish, when she finally feels relief. Her mom places a baby— _her_ baby—on her chest.

Clarke instinctively wraps her arms around the baby. Suddenly all of her previous emotions are gone. All she feels is an overwhelming amount of love for the child that she is holding in her arms.

The baby is the most beautiful sight Clarke has ever seen. She can’t tear her eyes off of the baby.

Her eyes well with tears. _It’s not real_ , Clarke tells herself. This isn’t her life. She can’t let herself love this child, but as much as she tries to quash her feelings, Clarke knows it’s in vain. 

Anomaly Bellamy sent her here to experience this. It wants her to know what it’s like to love a child of her own. She loves Madi as her own, but that love had crept up on her. This love hits her like a wave. 

Clarke knows that this is what her life could have been like if politics had never come into the picture. She could have fallen in love without it ending in heartbreak; could have experienced what it’s like to raise a child in a semi-normal world, without having to fear that that child would one day have leadership thrust upon them.

This is a punishment, but not in the way she thought. This is much worse. This is everything she never could have had.

“She’s beautiful,” Bellamy whispers. The sound pulls Clarke back into the moment. 

She forces herself to tear her eyes away from the infant in her arms, to look at Bellamy.

Clarke is, again, hit with an overwhelming wave of love. She’s used to feeling love for Bellamy; it’s happened in most of the other universes. This love is different though. 

She still feels the now-familiar love for Bellamy as a man that she’s fallen in love with, her partner, but it’s mixed with a love of him as the father of her children, the person who helped her bring life into the world. 

He is staring in awe at their daughter— _his_ daughter. Clarke, again, reminds herself that this isn’t real. Not for her. She’ll be gone soon enough, off to some new life that will never be hers. 

“You can get more comfortable now,” Abby says. She pulls a bloody medical gown and gloves off before adjusting the blankets over Clarke. “What’s her name?” Abby’s looking at the baby with so much love 

Clarke looks at Bellamy.

“Madison,” he says. “Madi for short.”

Clarke’s heart almost stops. 

“Madi,” Abby says, walking to the other side of Clarke from Bellamy. “Where did that come from?” 

“It just felt right,” Bellamy says. 

Clarke looks back down at her daughter. Maybe Madi was meant to be her daughter. Or maybe it’s just a coincidence. 

“Do you want me to swaddle her?” Abby asks.

Clarke nods, and Abby takes Madi from her arms. Madi lets out a small cry, and Clarke almost cries at having to let her go, even if just for a moment.

Abby lays her granddaughter out on a blanket and begins wrapping it around her. 

Clarke watches her mom. Seeing how happy she is, how much she already loves Madi, gives Clarke a bittersweet feeling. 

This is what it’s like to have a caring parent. Not that Abby from Clarke’s universe didn’t care, she was just dealt a bad hand in life; they all were. They all had to do terrible, unforgivable things to be able to survive.

This Abby hasn’t had that. The worst thing she had done was to send Clarke to the ground. She hasn’t resorted to cannibalism or drugs. She is happily married to Marcus.

Just another part of this life that Clarke can never have. 

Abby hands Madi back to Clarke. 

Clarke watches as Madi’s eyes roam the room. She stops fussing as soon as she is back in Clarke’s arms. When her eyes land on Clarke, Madi stares up in awe at Clarke as Clarke stares in awe back at her. 

“I’ll leave you three alone,” Abby says quietly, before slipping out of the room. 

Clarke looks over at Bellamy. “Do you want to hold her?” It breaks her heart to even ask. Bellamy gets a lifetime with her, and Clarke could be pulled back into the anomaly at any moment. Madi isn’t her daughter, though; not this Madi. Bellamy deserves to hold his newborn daughter. 

Bellamy looks taken aback. “I-, but-”

Clarke all but forces Madi onto him. To his credit, Bellamy takes her without question.

He holds her so gently, as if he can’t believe she’s real.

“Hi,” he says softly. Madi looks up at him and starts cooing.

“She likes your voice,” Clarke all but whispers. She’s hit with memories of him talking to her swollen stomach. Madi’s heard his voice almost every day, so it’s no surprise that she recognizes it now. “She knows you’re her dad.”

Bellamy chokes up at being called a dad, and Clarke is hit with more memories.

They started to realize it a few years ago, four years after the dropship was sent to the ground. Life was starting to feel normal again. They had a small but thriving village, and all of their basic needs were finally being met, so people were starting to get married and try to start families like they used to on the Ark. The keyword being try. 

Abby had apparently had her suspicions, based on the lack of accidental babies. In their first four years on the ground, the only child born to a couple who weren’t trying to have a baby was Jordan, Monty and Harper’s son. 

As more and more people started trying to have children, it became more and more apparent that something was wrong. There were children being born, but it was taking longer than it should have, and some babies were being born with mutations. 

Abby’s theory was that it was the radiation, but there was no way to prove it without a study that just wasn’t feasible. 

Clarke and Bellamy had experienced trouble trying to conceive. It took over a year for Clarke to become pregnant with Madi. 

Clarke and Bellamy had worried that they might not ever be able to become parents. 

They spend what feels like the rest of the day together in the hospital room before Abby comes back and tells them that they can go home, and she’ll come over to check on Clarke and Madi later.

Clarke and Bellamy bundle up Madi and Bellamy carries her back to their house, Clarke following.

It’s the end of summer, so while it’s a beautiful day, there’s a chill in the air. Clarke remembers these days from her years on the ground, alone with Madi— _her_ Madi. 

The first time the temperature started to change, Clarke had panicked. The reality that she was alone with only a seven-year-old started to set in. She needed to make sure that they had enough food to last the winter, and that the houses in the valley would stay warm enough to keep them alive and comfortable. Clarke hadn’t known if the radiation from Praimfaya would affect the climate and make it worse.

In the end, Clarke and Madi had made it through. 

Here, no one was panicking. There didn’t seem to be a sense of urgency that winter was coming. There were things that needed to be done, but Clarke wasn’t feeling like she was in a life or death situation. 

Five-year-old Jordan runs up to them. “Is that your baby?” he asks. Even without the memories from this life, Clarke can recognize him. He looks so similar to his older self. 

Bellamy nods and crouches down. “This is Madi.”

“Jordan.” Clarke hears a voice that she hasn’t heard in a long time. She looks over in the direction Jordan came from and sees Harper opening the front door of her house.

Clarke is hit by another wave of feelings. Of course, Harper and Monty are still alive in this universe. They got some semblance of a happy ending in her universe, and it seems that they’ve found that again. 

“You had the baby!” Harper exclaims. She pulls on a sweater and comes over to see the new baby.

“This is Madison,” Bellamy says, still crouched down so Jordan can see her.

“She’s so small,” Jordan says, wide-eyed. 

“You were that small when you were born,” Harper says. 

“Really?”

“Really. Now, let’s let Clarke and Bellamy go home. I’m sure they’re very tired.” Harper shot Clarke a sympathetic look. 

Clarke smiles in return.

“Can we see them soon?” Jordan asks his mom.

“Of course!” Bellamy says. “You can still come over any time.”

Clarke continues following Bellamy back to their house. 

When they get inside, Bellamy places Madi in a bassinet next to their bed. Clarke remembers the hours he put into making it. 

She had insisted that he didn’t need to make a new bassinet. There were enough around Arkadia that they could have gotten one that another infant had outgrown. Bellamy had been set on making their child one, though, so Clarke had stopped mentioning it and had turned down the offers from others. 

Clarke sits on the edge of the bed.

“Do you need anything?” Bellamy asks.

“I’m a little hungry,” Clarke admits. “You don’t have to get it for me,” she adds when Bellamy turns to leave the bedroom.

“You gave birth less than a day ago,” Bellamy says. “Let yourself relax. You deserve it now, of all times.” 

Clarke doesn’t argue with him as he leaves. She scoots herself back so she can lean against the wall at the head of the bed, and looks down at Madi. 

She feels tears well in her eyes as it hits her again that this life will never be hers. 

Bellamy returns with a bowl of berries. “Are you okay?”

Clarke nods. “Yea. Just a lot of feelings.” It isn’t a lie—just not the whole truth. 

“I know.” Bellamy hands her the berries and sits at the edge of the bed by her feet. “It doesn’t seem real yet.”

Clarke nods as she eats the berries. 

They sit in silence, both looking at their daughter, Clarke eating berries. When she finishes, Clarke puts the bowl on the bedside table. 

Bellamy picks up the bowl. “I’ll let you sleep. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

Clarke has to admit that she is tired. She lays down.

Bellamy leans down and kisses her forehead. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

As Clarke closes her eyes, she feels the familiar pull, telling her she’s leaving this universe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that happened. We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos always appreciated. 
> 
> Make sure to follow Emily on [Tumblr](https://ruggedmurphy.tumblr.com/), and Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MadsWritesStuff) for more of their writing! Follow Elle on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/hopskipaway) for more of her creations and her writing!
> 
> And come scream with us @wreckjrothclub on [Tumblr](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)
> 
> We'll see you guys on Sunday for Ch. 8!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's not sure how much more she can deal with these alternative universes that are breaking her heart, but she has to soldier on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eight for your reading pleasure—we do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Mitra.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venetum/pseuds/venetum)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Lea.](https://helloeurydice.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Both Mads & Lea are involved in with The 100 Fic for BLM initative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

The moment Clarke feels the metal floor of the Ark beneath her feet again, she crumbles. Sobs wrack her body, and she can’t do anything to stop them from overtaking her. 

A daughter. _Their_ daughter. The pain of having everything she’s ever wanted literally in her hands only to have it ripped away from her in an instant. To feel that love for the child that she and Bellamy made together, and then have it hollowed out of her chest when she was pulled back into her own bleak reality...a reality where the love of her life is dead and her surrogate daughter is trapped in her own mind because Clarke failed to protect her…it breaks something inside her. 

She feels two now-familiar arms wrap around her, trying to anchor her against a solid chest. She hears the low rumble of a soothing tune reverberate through her, trying to calm her down. And like a switch is flipped, the sadness and despair transform into an all-encompassing rage. 

Clarke wrenches herself from his grasp, jerkily scooting away from him as fast as she can. 

“How fucking dare you,” she spits in accusation, her voice hoarse. 

Bellamy looks confused and bewildered at her anger, which only serves to make it worse. This is her mindspace, and he can hear her thoughts and see her past. He knows her worries and fears and hopes and dreams, and he _should have known_ what that would do to her. 

“Clarke, I’m—” 

“ _Get away from me!”_

She can’t look at him. She can’t look at the man who just helped her birth their baby, the man who looked at her as she held their daughter like they were the only two people in his entire universe, the man who could have been the father to her children if she hadn’t killed her chance at happiness with a bullet to the chest. 

A little voice in the back of her mind whispers that this pain is the punishment she deserves for taking the chance her Bellamy had at being a father away from him. And she doesn’t disagree, but God she can’t look into those brown eyes for another second, not when they aren’t his. 

She’s got to get out of here, she thinks with sudden clarity. Her head whips around wildly, searching for the nearest drawing she can get to. 

“Wait, you should rest,” Bellamy’s imposter coos, moving toward her, hands outstretched as if she’s a wild animal to be approached with caution. 

“I said get the fuck away from me,” she growls, crawling as fast as her body will allow. The cold metal of the Ark corridor floors hurts her knees, but she doesn’t care. The ache is nothing compared to the ice lodged in her heart like a dagger. 

She doesn’t even register the scene itself, reaching out to touch it. Her eyes close, and she welcomes the darkness that washes over her. 

For a split second, there is peace. 

* * *

Clarke’s eyes snap open and she is acutely aware of a warm, little body clinging desperately to her own. Blinking rapidly, her eyes dart about the room in an effort to orient herself to her surroundings. She takes in the bedroom in which she’s awoken, moderately sized with the bed taking up most of the free space. The bed is soft, softer than anything she remembers sleeping on back when she’d been on Earth before Praimfaya, and topped with lush, brown furs. She makes note of the door diagonally opposite her current position on the bed, propped open slightly, and the soft sunlight that filters in through the two windows on the walls adjacent to the bed. 

A soft sigh draws her attention away from the wooden walls of what she assumes is a cabin, and back to the child that is currently wrapped around her midsection.

Her heart swells as she takes in the child’s features, her heart-shaped face and pert nose miniature replicas of her own. Clarke has no doubt that this child is her own—the warmth that has flooded her chest at the mere sight of her is proof enough—and the smattering of freckles across the girl’s cheeks, coupled with the raven curls pulled back into a messy braid down the child’s back is enough to relay the other half of her parentage. 

The girl begins to stir, and Clarke feels her hand move instinctively, gently up and down the girl’s back to soothe her. Against all odds, she and Bellamy have managed to create a family of their own in this reality, tied together forever by the existence of this child.

_Nova_ , her mind supplies helpfully as Clarke watches the four-year-old sleep, the peaceful innocence of the child captivating her.

She wonders with a pang of sadness and longing how exactly she and Bellamy had managed to find themselves in a world where they thought it safe enough to raise a child—a world where she could afford to take naps in the middle of the day and not feel an ounce of guilt—when the Earth she once knew could never have afforded them such luxuries. 

The answer, she knows, lies in her memories. But she resists the urge to delve into them despite her errant curiosity. She isn’t sure she can bear to see all the decisions the Bellamy and Clarke of this world had made to correct the course of their lives in such a drastic way. She would have given everything she had for the chance at this kind of life with her own Bellamy, back when she still believed she deserved it. But everything is different now—she has successfully let down or lost every person in her life who ever meant anything to her, and all she has left are these little pockets of universes where different versions of herself have succeeded in doing better. She will have to face these memories, she knows, before she actually interacts with anyone from this world. But she’s happy for now to simply nuzzle closer to the warmth of this child, her daughter, and pretend that nothing is wrong. 

She feels herself slip back into the welcoming darkness of sleep, overcome by the sheer exhaustion weighing down her bones. 

_Another few minutes can’t hurt_ , she reasons, eyes fluttering shut almost on their own accord.

* * *

The first thing she feels the next time she wakes is the warmth of a little body climbing atop her own, soft pudgy arms wrapping as far around her torso as they can go and a little head nuzzling into her chest. 

“Nova,” she hums subconsciously, eyes still closed as she brings a hand up to stroke the child’s hair—an action so instinctive it feels as though she’s done it a million times before. 

“Wake up, Mom,” the little girl implores, fingers gently poking at Clarke’s sides. “It’s time for dinner.”

Clarke wills herself to shed the last vestiges of sleep, puzzled as to why she is still so tired after having rested for at least a couple of hours. Forcing her eyes open, she meets the gaze of the child who is making it her mission to climb further up Clarke’s body. 

Her gaze shifts, meeting that of the little girl who is now sitting up, the eyes peering up at her causing her heart to stutter. 

She’d suspected, of course, the last time she woke up, and yet, the sight of her favorite pair of brown eyes— _Bellamy’s eyes_ —so perfectly replicated in this child sent a wild mixture of emotions flooding through Clarke, grief and longing chief amongst them. 

It is then that her sleep-addled mind finally registers what the little girl had called her only moments ago, the word so deeply ingrained in Clarke’s identity—both the Clarke she knows herself to be, cold and unforgivable as she may be, and the one whose reality she currently bears witness to—that it had felt natural to answer to it. 

_Mom._

How many times had she longed for Madi to call her that before things had gone to hell? 

The rational part of Clarke knows why Madi had refused to use the term with her. She understands, even now, that she was Madi’s mother in every way that counted and yet, some selfish part of her had always wished Madi would slip up and refer to her as her mother, regardless. 

An even more shameful part of her, one she’d fed against her better judgment in the six years she waited for Bellamy, and then forced into hiding almost as soon as she came face-to-face with him once more, had hoped that Madi might grow to think of Bellamy as her father, too. 

A foolish thought, she now realizes. She had never been enough on her own to bridge the gap that had formed between the two of them during those long, six years. She might have been before it all. But the isolation and constant fear of losing the only person she had left in her life had only sharpened the jagged edges that life on Earth had torn into her.

It had been too late for her then, but perhaps witnessing the life her counterpart in this reality had fought for and won might be enough to grant Clarke some small shred of peace. 

She brings her attention back to Nova, arms tightening around the little girl as she hugs her close.

“Alright,” she nods a couple of moments later, allowing Nova to slip out of her grasp, “let’s go find your dad and see what he’s cooked up today.”

She knows without having to really think about it that Bellamy will have dinner ready, a step of their daily routine that had ingrained itself deeply into her subconscious after years of having lived with him. 

The girl nods obediently, scrambling off of her mother and sliding off the bed in a blur of chubby, uncoordinated limbs, bounding out of the room at top speed. 

Clarke takes a moment to stretch, the familiar cracking of her shoulders a comforting constant in every universe, before she slips out of bed herself. She can hear the soft murmur of voices coming in through the door, presumably Nova demanding dinner from Bellamy, as she makes her way over to one of the windows. 

The room overlooks a gorgeous meadow, one Clarke vaguely recognizes as having been about a fifteen-minute walk from Arkadia, the setting sun bathing it in golden light. She allows herself this moment of peace, taking a deep breath as she finally lets the memories of this Clarke break through the make-shift barrier she’d set up in her mind.

Not very much seems to be different, at first. She peruses the memories with a practiced ease, flipping through depictions of Mount Weather and her subsequent choice to leave with a flinch, moving on to Bellamy’s spiral after Gina’s death and her own relationship with Lexa, before finally landing upon what it had taken to take ALIE down. 

This was where things began to change, she realizes. This Clarke remembers being in the City of Light, having to fight off numerous believers with Lexa by her side, finally reaching for ALIE’s kill switch while the AI warned her gravely about the consequences of her actions, about the second Praimfaya, before she pulled the lever.

But after that… nothing. No memories of Raven ever confirming the meltdown of the reactors. No nightblood experiments, no choking and burning in the radiation, no six-year isolation with Madi in Shallow Valley.

The second nuclear apocalypse had simply never occurred in this reality, allowing Clarke, Bellamy, and the rest of their people the time they had needed to truly heal from the atrocities of their past. 

She skims through the memories of her relationship with Bellamy quickly, remembering the solace they had taken in each other’s arms once they had finally had time to slow down and experience the pain they had been carrying with them for so long. The sleepless nights spent dealing with their trauma had quickly transitioned into something more, and they’d moved in together within a year of taking ALIE down. They had been each other’s only source of comfort as they sought to repent for their sins.

She runs her hand across the windowsill, the significance of this cabin dawning on her. Bellamy had spent the majority of her pregnancy with Nova building the cabin by himself, a painstaking process that he claimed allowed him to feel as though he deserved a part in his daughter’s life. Clarke remembers trying to argue with him, his sense of self-worth an ongoing topic of contention. She’d had no doubt in her mind, even then, that Bellamy Blake would be an amazing father. 

It is with this thought that she turns away from the windowsill. She has spent so long wishing Bellamy would come back to her so that they could be a family in her own life, and now here she is in a reality where she has exactly that. She’s determined not to waste a single moment of it. 

Her mind now made up, Clarke makes her way out of the bedroom, following the delicious aroma of roasting meat through a large room with a fireplace and a couple of smartly-placed chairs, and into the adjoining room which she assumes is the kitchen. 

She pauses at the sight that awaits her, heart warming at the sight of Bellamy—gorgeously bearded and filled out in such fine form, he could easily pass for the Bellamy from her own universe—chatting easily to their daughter, where she sits perched on the edge of their dining table, taking the time to acknowledge every minute detail of her day as she rambles to him. 

She leans against the arch leading into the room, content to simply watch the pair interact. Listening to her daughter regale her father with a tale of how she took down a couple of bullies after they pulled her hair at daycare that day, she can’t help but marvel at how fiercely strong and independent Nova already is. 

Although, she does suppose the traits are inevitable, given who she is. Stubbornness runs in the Griffin family, after all, and the Blakes are no different. 

“There you are!” Bellamy exclaims, beckoning for her to come join them at the little dining table. “You sleep okay?”

Clarke nods, a soft smiling playing on her lips at the domesticity of it all. 

“Dinner smells amazing,” she says, walking over to them. 

“I knew you were having some trouble stomaching panther meat,” he explains gently pulling her closer to him, “so I figured you’d appreciate some wild boar instead.”

She nods appreciatively, pressing closer to the warmth of him. He wraps his arms around her from behind, bringing his hands together to rest protectively on her abdomen. 

“Thanks, Bell,” she murmurs, relishing in the feeling of having him this close.

“How are you doing today?” he asks, turning her around so that she’s facing him now. 

“Better,” she nods, giving him a quick rundown of other-Clarke’s day, “the nausea was terrible this morning but Octavia brought over some more of Nyko’s tea to help with that. I barely made it through my surgery with Mom, though. I’d almost forgotten how exhausting the first trimester can be.”

“I remember. You were so sure you’d come down with something life-threatening last time,” he chuckles. “I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better, though.”

That’s when it hits her. 

The exhaustion, the uncharacteristic midday naps, _the first trimester_. Suddenly, it all makes sense. 

Clarke isn’t sure how she missed it earlier. 

Other Clarke, or rather, _this_ Clarke, she supposes, is pregnant. 

Not very far along, of course, given Clarke hadn’t caught any visible signs of the pregnancy when she first woke up, but far enough along for the couple to know. 

Her eyes well up with tears and she turns her head away from Bellamy quickly, not wanting him to notice. She isn’t quick enough. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he questions, one hand coming up to grip her chin and gently turn her face to meet his. 

“I… just…” she trails off, struggling to put words to the jumble of emotions and thoughts clouding her mind. 

How can she be expected to leave this reality now?

How can she go back, having experienced the life she wants so desperately?

There’s a very slim chance she can get pregnant in her reality, if there’s even anything left to go back to. She’d been exposed to far too much radiation during Praimfaya to leave her with much hope of a successful pregnancy. 

Not that it matters. 

There’s no one alive she would ever want to have a baby with. 

Not anymore. 

The tears finally spill, a deluge of sadness and frustration, of mourning for this beautiful, full life that can never be her own. She pulls him closer to her, face pressed into his chest as she sobs.

“It’s just all so much,” she manages to get out. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to cope with it all.”

He presses a kiss to the crown of her head, hugging him close to her. The action brings on a fresh wave of tears. She’s acutely aware that she’s only ever felt this comfortable and safe in one man’s arms in her entire life, and she knows she’ll never be able to experience this feeling as herself ever again. 

“Breathe, Princess,” he murmurs, running his hands up and down her back in an effort to calm her. “It’s all going to be okay.”

She knows she needs to stop now, to calm herself down as much as she can and pretend to be as happy as the Clarke living in this universe should be. But, selfish as it is, she needs to hear him reassure her that everything will be okay once more. 

“I’m not so sure about that,” she admits, arms tightening around him. “I’m not so sure it’ll ever be okay.”

He pulls away from her slightly, his gaze lowering to meet her own. 

“It might never be, on its own,” he agrees. “But we fight every day to make sure things will turn out okay in the end. And how can they not when the Princess and the Rebel King will them to?” 

Clarke wrinkles her nose at the rather juvenile titles the Delinquents had once bestowed upon the pair, nostalgia hitting her like a freight train at the thought of their days back at the dropship. 

She hiccups a laugh, the frequency of her sobs slowing considerably. 

“There’s that smile I love so much,” he grins at her, wiping her tears away as best he can with his fingers. “Now, come on. Let’s eat. Everything feels a little more achievable once you’ve got some food in you.”

She murmurs her agreement, slipping into one of the chairs at the round table and accepting Nova’s worried hug at the sight of her tears. 

“I’m okay, baby,” she assures her, not entirely sure the statement is untrue. Yes, the fate of the universe, all of them, in fact, currently rests in the palm of her hand, but Bellamy had just reminded her of a very important fact: she is Clarke Griffin. She’s survived dropping down from space in a metal death trap; she’s survived wars with the Grounders; hell, she’s even survived a nuclear apocalypse. And, while she may have fucked up her own reality, she’s never been one for making the same mistake twice. 

It is this thought that she holds onto while she enjoys what little time she has left with this perfect little family, through dinner where she hears about Bellamy’s day teaching at the primary school that had officially been opened once more Arkadians had gotten comfortable enough to have children, and the rest of Nova’s tales from daycare. 

Being in this reality really is as easy as breathing, she laments later that night, once Nova has been tucked into bed with a bedtime story about one hundred delinquents who had been sent down to the Earth and their continual effort to do better, twin kisses from her parents pressed gently into her forehead. 

And as she lays in bed that night, wrapped tightly in Bellamy’s arms, she feels a strange sense of peace. The knowledge that this universe exists brings her more joy than she has felt in a long time, and she knows she’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that these lives can go on unmarred by outside influences. 

It’s with this thought that she allows herself to succumb fully to the now-familiar pull, head growing light as she feels herself slip out of this universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke just can't catch a break can she? We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Mitra on [Tumblr & ](https://venetum.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/venetumx), Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stealjasonsjob) and Lea on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/helloeurydice/) & [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/helloeurydice)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke lands on Earth, but not to a world she recognizes. Peace with the grounders? How?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re onto chapter 9! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Pris.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheWallflowers/pseuds/QueenoftheWallflowers)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Julie.](https://clarkesplaylist.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Pris and Madison are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

She feels hollow when she opens her eyes to the harsh lighting of the Ark in her mindspace. In her desperation to escape the pain of knowing she could have had a family with Bellamy, she managed to jump headfirst into further proof of what could have been, of what  _ was _ in another lifetime. 

Bellamy is there—well the only version of Bellamy she gets to see in her own life anymore—staring at her with an identical look of worry as the man she’d just left. 

Clarke wonders if it would have been easier on someone else to do this. Would Raven’s alternate lives cause her so much joy and despair all at once? Would Gabriel see regrets and could-have-beens at every turn? Maybe not. Maybe they are in this lifetime better versions of themselves, not having the regrets Clarke carries like Atlas carried the heavens in Bellamy’s favorite stories. 

It seems she’s the worst version of Clarke, the one who made all the wrong choices she could have possibly made when it came to Bellamy—not telling him how she felt, leaving after Mt. Weather, not giving him the benefit of the doubt in Eden, once again not telling him how she felt in Sanctum...and then committing her worst crime when she pulled that trigger to end his life. 

Yet again, her knees buckle under her weight, unable to keep her standing. And on the floor, she lets herself cry. She cries for the daughters she never had, she cries for the man she was never brave enough to show she loved, she cries for the lives she could have led if only she had been stronger. 

Anomaly Bellamy slides down the wall beside her, not saying anything. And she’s angry with him. Oh, so angry. Angry that he let her see these universes, angry that he sent her into a universe he had to have known would cause her immense pain...angry that he’s not the man she needs him to be. 

And that’s the kicker, that’s what it all comes down to. She’s angry at him for not being the person she wants him to be. She’s angry at him for being everything she needs and everything she can’t have all wrapped in one. She’s angry at herself for continuing to torture herself with his image when she could be here with anybody else. 

Her mind is brought back to what Bellamy told her on the beach that night so long ago:  _ I was so angry at you for leaving. I don't want to feel that way anymore. _

She doesn’t want to feel this way anymore, either. So instead of yelling or pushing him away, she lets herself lean into him. She curls herself into his side, and she wraps his arms around her. He looks confused, shocked at her willingness to be near him, this act of intimacy with him even though she knows he’s not the person she wishes he was. 

“Just...just hold me, okay?” she says, her voice hoarse and shaky. Tears are still streaming down her face, but she doesn’t do anything to stop them. “I know you aren’t him, and I know it won’t fix anything. But I just...I just need…” 

He pulls her to his chest, not making her finish. His hand weaves its way into her hair just like another Bellamy would do in all of these other lifetimes—just like her Bellamy would have done if she’d have ever let him get close enough. 

And no, this isn't her Bellamy. But it’s his arms anchoring her to his side, and it’s his voice humming a soothing melody as she cries, and it’s his memories that are telling anomaly Bellamy exactly what she needs to feel okay. 

So she lets him hold her. She lets herself close her eyes and pretend for just a moment that this is real. And it doesn’t make the ache in her chest go away, but it does give her the strength she needs to keep going. 

After Clarke cries all the tears she can, she pulls away from him. There’s a stain on his henley from her tears, but he doesn’t pay it any mind, his focus on her. 

“We don’t have to keep going,” he says, obviously hesitant to break whatever truce she’s decided exists between them. 

“Yes, I do. I owe this to everyone I’m making this decision for. I owe this to him.” 

And she has a suspicion that anomaly Bellamy either doesn’t agree or doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t argue with her. Instead, he silently takes her hand and brings her over to a picture of a face she hasn’t seen in a long time. 

She’s sure this universe will bring its own version of heartache, but for the first time, she feels ready to embrace it. 

And so once again, she lets herself fall. 

* * *

The first thing Clarke sees is green, the bright, beautiful, once upon a time magic green that had taken her breath away when she first came down to earth. The first thing she hears is laughter—children's laughter to be exact.

She turns toward the laughter, and there’s a bunch of kids laughing, but her eyes are drawn to a small blonde girl who’s running towards someone.

Clarke watches as she crashes into the open arms of a man, his arms engulfing her.

It makes her smile wistfully, somehow life on the ground had been good to this version of her, to this Clarke whose hands, while calloused, are not bloodstained, whose body does not ache the way hers does, whose heart is not broken the way hers is.

The man looks up at her and Clarke lifts her hand in greeting and the man says something to the little blonde girl in his arms, pointing in her direction. And then the little girl is barrelling towards, blonde hair falling out of its braid, the red ribbon in her hair falling to the ground.

Clarke sees the man snatch up the ribbon from the corner of her eye but she’s too busy looking at the little girl peering up at her, whose arms are wrapped around her legs.

Her eyes are blue, a familiar shade of blue that takes her breath away and has a small mole on the corner of her lip that it’s like she is looking in the mirror.

She has a flash of herself, holding a small baby, bright blue eyes looking up at her, wrapped in a soft gray blanket.

_ “She’s perfect.” Clarke touches her cheek softly, tenderly, still in awe at the life she created. _

_ “She looks just like you, princess.” _

_ “Thank god she doesn’t look like her father.”  _

_ Someone scoffs and the other laughs but Clarke pays them no attention. _

_ She’s too busy staring at the little girl in her arms, “She’s perfect.” _

_ An arm squeezes her shoulder and a kiss is pressed to her hair, another hand, this one pale reaches for the baby, her small fingers closing around the man’s fingers. _

_ “You did good Clarke.” _

“Mama!”

Her heart lurches and she bends down shakily to pick up the girl demanding her attention—Iris.

She sees herself, hand on her stomach, laughing as a familiar man’s voice reads names off to her.

_ “We are not naming her Demeter.” She’s sitting in the bed, fur blanket pulled up, sketching in her book, Octavia’s face slowly starting to form in front of her. _

_ Bellamy comes into her view, a smirk on his face. _

_ “How about Athena? Artemis?” _

_ She throws a pillow at him and he dodges it, laughing. _

_ “You are such a nerd.”  _

_ He kisses her forehead affectionately, before ducking down to press a kiss to the curve of her stomach before sitting down at the edge of the bed. _

_ “The baby is due in a month Clarke, she needs a name.” _

_ “He needs a name.” _

_ Bellamy shakes his head. “It’s a girl. Even her father agrees with me.” _

Her daughter.

Her beautiful daughter, who was born during a late thunderstorm in the middle of April.

Iris gives her a wet kiss on the cheek before she starts to talk, babbling on about her day, talking about the stories that Bell-me told and the bread that Murp-me made.

Her beautiful daughter, who is not Bellamy’s but is loved by him anyway.

She sees Bellamy rocking Iris in his arms, singing softly to her. Iris riding on his shoulders, her hands pulling his hair, Iris in his lap as he tells her a story.

Clarke can see her hands, brushing Iris's hair, or scooping her up as the toddler runs off, giggling as she darts into another man's arms, a cry of “Daddy!” spilling from the young girl’s lips. 

_ Finn. _

It takes Clarke a second to realize that Iris isn’t just calling out in her memory but is calling out right then. 

Clarke looks up at surprise as she sees Finn approaching them, the boyish smirk on his face.

His hair is shorter and he looks older, more tired. But he's alive.

He's alive and Clarke wants to sob.

He reaches for Iris, fingers tickling her stomach and Iris laughs, arms reaching for Finn and Clarke passes Iris over, the small girl sneaking her thumb into her mouth as she curls up, one arm on his shoulders.

"You're going to be good for your mom and Bellamy right?"

Finn's smile is soft, his arms cradling her gently, and Clarke thinks of her Finn, sad eyes, blood on his hands—the way her hand trembled as she killed him.

She had killed him and the alliance had fallen through. Some nights she hated herself for it. He had died and a part of her died with him.

But this Finn didn't die.

He’s alive, breathing in front of her, their daughter in his arms. 

Finn's still talking to their daughter but Clarke is hit with a memory of Finn and Iris.

_ "Hey, Iris. I'm your dad." _

_ Finn coos at the child in his arms as Clarke looks at him sleepily. All she can see is the blanket that Iris is swaddled in. _

_ "You look so much like your momma. Her eyes, her hair, I hope you get her heart." _

_ Clarke feels a sob in her throat at the look on Finn's face—like he can't believe how small she is; he's in awe. _

_ "You're lucky to have her, you know. She's pretty badass. And Bellamy—well he's okay. He loves her, so that's something. I'm lucky too, you know. Your mom... she's forgiving. I did—I did something bad; something that is going to haunt me forever. Something she will never forgive me for. But you? You are the one good thing in my life, and I'm going to do my best to be good for you, to take care of you. I got a second chance at life, and you-you're the best part of it." _

_ Clarke can feel the tears on her face as she listens to Finn talk to their daughter, his fingers stroking her cheek gently. _

She made the right choice in saving him.

A hand on her arm jolts her back to this reality and she meets Finn's eyes.

"You okay? Don't tell me pregnancy brain is already affecting you."

"Pregnancy?"

She stops herself from raising a hand to her still flat stomach, but she's hit with the memory of 

Bellamy sweeping her up, kissing her, his hands on her stomach, covering hers.

Finn's cheeks are pink and he shifts a squirming Iris in his grasp.

"Bellamy told me the news last night, he's really excited."

Iris reaches out to her and Finn shifts her gently into her arms.

"I'm excited too."

Clarke's not lying, she is excited, happy that this other Clarke gets to have a happy life.

It hurts to think that once again, this was another chance of happiness that she missed that could have been hers if she had done something different.

If she had saved Finn from Lexa's command.

Clarke feels the same hurt and fear and anger she felt when Lexa told her how blood must have blood and if Clarke wanted their help, then Finn must die.

_ She stumbles out of Lexa's tent into Bellamy's arm. He cups her face, checking her for any injuries.  _

_ "Are you okay, what did she say? Did she hurt you?"  _

_ She shakes her head, she needs distance, as much distance between her and the commander as possible. Bellamy wraps an arm around her, leading her to the edge of the forest as far away from everyone as possible. _

_ "Clarke?"  _

_ She places her hand on the tree and bends over, vomiting on the ground. Bellamy is quick to grab her hair, holding it back, and rubbing her back, as she takes deep shuddering breaths. _

_ "Clarke, that's the sixth time, you should go see a doctor…” _

_ She stands up, wiping her mouth with her arm before meeting Bellamy’s eyes.  _

_ "She wants Finn. She wants to kill Finn."  _

_ Bellamy's face is pale. Clarke's head is fuzzy; she hates what Finn did, killing all those people in her name, but he's one of her people and she has fond memories of the guy who landed on the ground. _

_ "We want their help, we have to give them Finn to die—a death by a thousand cuts.” _

_ She can’t even imagine such a death and judging by the way Bellamy swallows, neither can he. He runs a hand through her hair. _

_ "Can she do that? She can't just order us to... we don't need her."  _

_ Clarke is surprised, not expecting Bellamy to be as angry. He’s not Finn’s biggest fan but compared to the grounders, to the commander, Finn is obviously the lesser of two evils. _

_ "We do, Bellamy. Our people are in there, we need an army, we need her."  _

_ Bellamy scowls and Clarke isn’t sure if it's at the mention of the army or of Lexa. He grabs her hand, squeezing it, Clarke has never seen Bellamy this desperate, this stubborn. _

_ "We don’t need them. You need an inside man, we can do this, Clarke." _

_ She looks at him sadly, stepping closer to him.  _

_ "We need Lexa's army. I promised Anya I would get her people out."  _

_ Bellamy's shoulders slump at the mention of the other grounder and Clarke feels a stab of guilt. Anya had died because of her, she needed to keep her promise and save all their people. Bellamy wraps his arms around her, drawing her into his chest and she lets out a soft sob, her hands twisting his shirt. _

_ He holds her as she cries into his chest, his arms tight, one hand cradling her head until she pulls away and he cups her cheek. _

_ "Blood must have blood." Her voice is soft, bitter, broken. _

The memory shifts, changes to Finn being tied to a tree, the grounders surrounding them, the citizens of the ark hovering near the edge. Raven is there, leaning on Wick. Abby and Kane, David Miller, other guards, there to fight the grounder or keep the citizens at bay, Clarke isn’t sure which.

_ Lexa strolls toward them, standing tall, her red cape the only color on this dark day, and Clarke stops her before she reaches Finn.  _

_ "Let me say goodbye, please." _

_ Lexa's eyes are soft, too soft for a woman ordering the death of a boy, and she nods and Clarke rushes to hug Finn. He's trembling when she gets to him but as she cups his face, his body calms and he gives her a sad, soft smile, tears in the corner of his eyes.  _

_ "Hey, Princess."  _

_ Clarke remembers the first time he called her princess and she thinks of how young, how innocent they were. They were just silly kids on the ground. Silly kids who were destined to die and somehow survived.  _

_ She chokes back a sob. "Finn, I'm scared."  _

_ It’s silly she knows to be scared when she’s not the one dying. But she’s scared of this and how it will change her, how this will haunt her forever. _

_ "It's going to be okay."  _

_ Leave it to Finn to be reassuring her as he’s about to die. What he has done—unforgivable but right now, she doesn’t see the boy who slaughtered a village, she sees the boy who made her laugh when she needed a laugh the most, who kissed her because he thought his girlfriend was dead and why shouldn’t he kiss the blonde princess, who gave her a two-headed deer, a reminder of that night. She sees a boy broken by the harsh ground.  _

_ Clarke can feel the weight of the knife in her hand and it’s heavy.  _

_ She looks at Finn and comes to the realization that she can't do it. She can't kill him. She can't let him die, even after all he has done. What he has done is unforgivable but how can she let him die, how can she find peace in the death of the one man who wanted peace.  _

_ "I can't do this."  _

_ She shakes her head, pressing her forehead against his, feeling his breath on her face. He kisses her softly and Clarke can taste his tears and hers. She pulls away and he whispers, "You have to. Blood must have blood, remember?" _

_ Blood must have blood. The words swirl in her mind. _

_ Blood must have blood. _

_ Blood. Her people's blood has been shed—both at the mountain as they speak thanks to Lexa playing the game of power with her, and before back at the Dropship, as the grounders came for them. _

_ Blood must have blood.  _

_ She looks at Finn, there has to be another way, a way she can save him and the alliance. _

_ Blood must have blood. _

_ Clarke turns to Lexa, eyes hard, anger in her veins. _

_ Lexa seems surprised. _

_ Clarke takes a deep breath. _

_ "Blood must have blood, that's what you said."  _

_ Lexa nods and Clarke bares her teeth. "If blood must have blood, then I demand the same."  _

_ There's a loud gasp from everyone before silence falls. Everyone is looking between the commander and the small girl who dares to defy her, who dares to challenge her. Lexa looks taken back, her jaw clenching and Clarke raises her chin, confidence filling her.  _

_ "Your people attacked mine, came to slaughter us the second we came down. You saw us, mere children, as a threat and attacked." _

_ "Finn murdered a village." _

_ "And you murdered mine." _

_ "Anya-" _

_ "Is dead. You are the commander, or do you hold no power over your people?"  _

_ Lexa looks murderous, and Clarke is playing with fire, but she doesn't care. _

_ She walks toward Lexa. "You knew we were here, at any second you could have commanded them to leave us alone, you could have asked us to join the coalition, you could have come and sent for us, and seen that we were children sent here to die. But we survived, despite your plans. We were sent to die, and we survived, but not all of us, and it’s for those lives that I demand that blood must have blood." _

_ Clarke can hear everyone whispering, muttering amongst themselves, and stares aimed at Lexa. The fear she once felt is gone and it has been replaced by anger. This might get her killed. This will most likely end with Finn's death, but Clarke will not stop fighting. If she doesn't take a stand then all children, including the one growing inside her own body, will never have a chance to live. _

_ What Finn did is unforgivable in her eyes, but she can't help but feel responsible. Finn's love for her is twisted and set forth this moment, but he can't die for loving her. She will never forgive him for what he did and that's something that Finn will have to deal with but she can't have another death on her conscience, on her soul. _

_ "I, Clarke Griffin, demand that the price of blood for the death of my people. I demand your blood, Lexa kom Trikru." _

_ Indra raises her sword and Bellamy points his gun at her, hands steady as several of Lexa's guards ready their weapons. Clarke feels guilty for not giving Bellamy a warning, but she’s thankful to know that he still has her back, that the gun he carries tucked in his pants is never far.  _

_ Lexa's eyes seem to unfocus and Clarke wonders what she is thinking, her heart is pounding. _

_ The knife hidden in her sleeves feels heavy and she thinks about Raven telling her that it's for Lexa. _

_ "My blood, you want my blood." _

_ "If Finn, who was not in the right state of mind, must die for what he has done, then why should you be free to live? You control these people, you let them act, you let them murder my people." _

_ Lexa reaches for her knife, the same knife she was playing with when she met with Clarke. Clarke braces herself for the knife to be embedded in her throat. _

_ Lexa holds the knife out, letting everyone see it. _

_ “Heda-” _

_ “Silence Indra… if the princess of the sky demands my blood, then she shall receive it. Blood must have blood.” _

_ Her eyes bore into Clarke’s as she drags the knife across her palm, a small gasp spilling from her lips.  _

_ Lexa maintains eye contact with Clarke as her blood drips to the ground and Clarke nods. _

_ “Octavia, untie Finn.” _

_ No one stops Octavia as she moves toward Finn, everyone too stunned by the black blood of the commander falling to the ground to bother with the girl untying Finn from the tree. Finn shakes his hands before walking towards Clarke. _

_ Clarke takes out the knife Raven gave to her and holds it out to Finn silently, who takes it silently. _

_ He takes a deep breath before slicing his own palm, letting blood drip to the ground where Lexa’s blood is. _

_ Clarke sounds braver than she feels, “Blood had blood. May you both live with what you have done forever.” _

_ She leaves Lexa, who is staring daggers at her back. For months, even years later, Clarke will refuse to go to Polis, not wanting to give the commander a chance to kill her. She leaves Finn behind to be wrapped into a hug by Raven and to be escorted back to camp.  _

_ She can hear Bellamy following her and when she turns to him, he’s smiling softly.  _

_ “You did it.” _

_ She places a hand on her stomach and Bellamy’s eyes drift downward and he looks at her in understanding and covers her hand with his own. _

_ “We will save them all.”  _

_ It’s a promise that he keeps. _

Clarke drifts back to the conversation with a shake of her head. So that’s how she did it.

That’s how Finn was saved.

"Anyway, Lexa has summoned me to Polis so I wanted to say my goodbyes to Iris before I leave. I'll be back within a week as long as the weather permits."

"Why does Lexa want you?" 

She doesn’t like the sound of Finn going to Polis and she wonders how this Clarke deals with it.

Finn gives her an odd look. "She needs a tracker, apparently another true night-blood was rumored to have been in the dead zone. But don't worry, I'll search for a week and tell her that the rumor was false; maybe send them to Luna if I can. Lexa won't suspect a thing."

Clarke has a flash of talking to Luna, the two coming to terms.

Clarke will send anyone looking for safety to Luna and in exchange Luna will allow them to play with her nightblood, figuring out a way to make more and end the conclave. After all, it's impossible to slaughter an entire nation of nightbloods.

"Be careful."

Just because Finn is alive right now, doesn't mean that won't change. 

If there is one thing Clarke had learned is that the ground is dangerous. 

His gaze softens and he leans over and presses a kiss to Iris's forehead.

"I will, I have something worth coming back to." 

Just then, Clarke feels a wave of dizziness come over her and she pushes Iris toward him, Finn stumbling to grab the child, Iris reaching for her.

“Clarke?”

Her body feels light, her head aching, her heart pounding as she realizes that she’s leaving. 

She can feel the familiar pull, tugging her away from this reality. And the last thing she hears as she falls to the ground is Finn screaming for help, for Bellamy, for anyone, and her daughter crying out for her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The butterfly effect makes a big difference, huh? We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Pris on [Tumblr](https://queen-of-the-wallflowers15.tumblr.com), Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stealjasonsjob) and Julie on [IG.](https://www.instagram.com/jouliedejoulaye/)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We'll see you on Thursday for a new chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke happily finds herself in Shadow Valley again, but in this universe, it's not just her and Madi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 has arrived! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Taylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkepticalBeliever/pseuds/SkepticalBeliever)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Elle.](https://hopskipaway.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Madison & Elle are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

A sense of pride fills her when she comes back to herself in her mindspace. That other version of Clarke stood up to Lexa in a way she herself could never quite manage.

And maybe being pregnant would have changed things. But a small part of Clarke knows that it wouldn’t have. She is who she is, and she’s done what she’s done. Just like Finn—she’s now facing the consequences of those actions in her own timeline. 

She draws a shaky breath, finding Bellamy’s eyes. He approaches slowly as if worried she’s going to self-destruct at any moment. To be fair, she did kind of lose it on him the past couple of times she’s come back from a universe. 

There’s a silent question in his eyes, those brown eyes she knows so well. 

_ Are you okay?  _

It’s an expression she’s seen so many times, one she used to never go a day without seeing when they happened to be in the same place for a stretch of time. And she used to give that almost imperceptible nod, the one only Bellamy could ever really decipher, to tell him that she was okay. She’d always been okay whenever he was by her side. 

But he’s not anymore. 

“I’m not okay,” she answers, giving a small half-shrug. “But I don’t know if I’ll ever be truly okay ever again.” 

It’s a truth she’s been dancing around since she pulled that trigger, the idea that she has irreparably damaged her life. And maybe time will heal this wound like it has some of her others. Or maybe 20 years from now, she’ll still wake up in a cold sweat with the ghost of his eyes burned into her mind and his name on her lips. 

Either way, it’s time she accepted that fate. This is her life, but there are millions of others out there that ended better—with a better version of Clarke and a better version of Bellamy, and a better version of the world. 

“Do you want to stop?”

She looks him in the eyes, and for the first time, she doesn’t have to fight back the urge to collapse under the intense gaze that meets hers. 

“No.” 

And so she lets the next universe surround her. 

* * *

When Clarke comes to she is sitting on a patch of soft green grass, her back against the base of an ancient oak tree. A sense of familiarity, of home, envelops her. Her little verdant valley stretches out before her. She leans her head back for just a moment to savor the place she once called home.  _ God, I’ve missed this. _

Her peace only lasts a moment before the sound of static tickles her ears. The radio. Her fingers are clutched around it, grasping it like the lifeline it was for her for 2199 days in her own timeline. Maybe this time someone answered? A moment’s reflection is all Clarke needs to know that no, no one in this timeline has heard her calls. She could scream at the sky until her lungs gave out and Bellamy still wouldn’t hear her.

She stands slowly, stretching out the stiffness in her neck and back. This version of herself must have been sitting here for a while. What could she have spent so much time talking to Bellamy about in this life? Madi, bright-eyed and a wide grin stretched across her face flashes across her mind. But someone else too. Luna with quiet affection in her eyes and industrious hands mending nets and building shelter also dances across her memories. But how?

Clarke wanders a familiar path, weaving amongst the trees and hopping over brambles and stones, down to the creek where she instinctively knows she will find them. Sure enough, they are knee-deep in the river, reeling in their fishing net with practiced grace and ease. Their haul is not a particularly bountiful one, and Clarke knows even without her memories of this Clarke’s life that Luna would be careful not to overfish; the population’s numbers must not be fully restored yet. They must only be a few years past Praimfaya.

One look at Madi confirms Clarke’s suspicions. She’s all knobby knees and stretched out limbs. She has not yet begun to grow into them. Clarke guesses she must be around ten years old.

Luna, by contrast, is exactly how Clarke remembers her in her own lifetime, only more so. Her wild mane, which always seemed to have a life of its own, hangs down to nearly her waist and is shot through with an array of colors. Clarke idly wonders which berries they used to achieve such results. Her strong arms, which once threw Clarke to the ground in both this life and her own, gently guide Madi through the motions as they pull the net to shore. A jolt of affection shoots through Clarke, seeing someone else be so attentive to one of the people most precious to her.

The memories seep in, the sieve of her mind releasing them slowly to her consciousness.

_ “How did you kill Luna?” she asked Octavia after the conclave. _

_ “I didn’t. Death was too easy for her.” _

The vision shifts and Clarke sees Luna leaning heavily on her spear, gasping for breath, bodies littering the ground around the Rover.  _ The ambush _ , she recalls. Luna saved them instead of Echo. When Bellamy had demanded an explanation from her, all she could offer was a sad little shrug and one word: Raven. It was enough.

The next memory fills her chest with an ache that is both familiar and foreign. She is facing Bellamy, telling him to hurry, and sprinting towards the tower. It played out just as it did in her own life, except in this life she wasn’t alone. Luna clambered up the tower with her and yanked the satellite dish into position. They clung to the rigging as the rocket shot off into the sky. For the briefest moment, Clarke tore her eyes away from the retreating ship and saw Luna touch two fingers to her heart and nod to herself. When the death wave roared and chased them back to Becca’s lab, they sprinted hand in hand. It is clear to Clarke, examining the memory, that, no matter what differences were between them, they were both terrified to be left alone.

The next several memories are, mercifully, mere flashes—for which, Clarke is grateful. She sees herself nursing Luna back to health in Becca’s lab; Luna’s hand on her shoulder when she finds the remains of Lexa’s throne; her arms encircling Luna as she weeps for her beloved ocean; Luna tackling her in the blistering sand and wrestling her pistol out of her grasp.  _ “Don’t you dare leave me here alone, Clarke Griffin.” _

The final memory she sees is a happy one. Madi stands frozen in the tree line, relieved tears making tracks down her mud-caked face at the sight of Luna, slitting open her palm to reveal her black blood and proving that they were not flame keepers. Clarke sees herself follow suit.  _ “You’re not alone.” _ Madi takes her first tentative step towards them.

“Looks like we have a tear here,” Luna says to Madi, pointing to a rip in the net and bringing Clarke out of her reverie to the present. “Do you remember how to fix it?”

“Can you show me again? I don’t remember how.” Madi attempts an innocent smile that Clarke is all too familiar with from her own life.

Luna shakes her head; she’s not buying it. “Why don’t you give it a try,” she says with a good-natured smile. “If you make a mistake, I’ll help you fix it.”

Madi heaves a put-upon sigh but nods. She clearly likes proving her skills to the older nightblood.

Clarke watches the child closely, searching for signs of  _ her _ Madi in this alternate iteration. So much feels familiar—her mannerisms, her facial expressions. Yet, there is a lightness in her that her child never had. She and Madi had a good life in Shallow Valley, but there was clearly a disconnect that she is only just beginning to understand now that it’s too late to fix it. She senses none of that here. There is sadness, grief, and longing for what has been lost. But there is also a profound sense of peace and acceptance.

“Very good, Madi,” Luna says, inspecting Madi’s work. “Your knots are improving. I’d like to see a trout try to escape this.”

Madi preens at her praise and glances around. Her eyes land on Clarke, standing in the treeline, and she lights up. “Clarke!” She bounds up to Clarke and throws her arms around her waist. Her touch triggers another wave of memories and, with them, understanding.

Clarke catches glimpses of her and Luna, sharing the responsibility of caring for Madi. She sees herself teaching Madi how to properly hold charcoal to write her letters and draw pictures. She sees Luna gently coaxing Madi to open up about her parents. She sees Madi mimicking their mannerisms and frustrating her and Luna to no end. She sees the three of them playing hide and seek amongst the trees and giggling uncontrollably under a blanket of stars.

In this life, Madi is not her child or Luna’s, but rather a beloved younger sister. The protective instincts she had in her own life towards Madi are still present—she’s certain of this, feels it deep in her bones—but they’re less irrational, less feral. It is this distinction, she realizes, that makes their existence here infinitely less complicated.

Tears prick her eyes and envy floods her heart. What she would give to go back in her own life and fix things with her Madi, to not presume—to love her without suffocating her. She clings to the child in her arms and pretends for just a moment that she could have had this too.

When Clarke looks up, she finds Luna’s assessing gaze. She raises her brows in a silent question.  _ Do you want to talk about it? _

Clarke shakes her head once, no. As overwhelmed as she feels by the proximity of a child who is Madi, but not  _ her  _ Madi, and this strange new kinship she feels towards Luna, she wouldn’t know where or how to begin.

Luna shrugs and turns her attention back to Madi. “Okay, kid. Time for practice.”

“C’mon, Luna,” Madi whines. “Clarke just got back.”

“Clarke’s welcome to join in if she wants. C’mon. Take your stance.”

Madi rolls her eyes but does as she is told.

_ Her stance is too wide _ , Clarke thinks.  _ Elbows need to be brought in to protect her center _ . Luna sees this too and wordlessly adjusts Madi’s stance. Then she takes on an aggressive pose opposite of her in the clearing.

Luna moves like a viper—swift, precise, deadly. But Madi, while not as finessed as Luna, holds her own and dodges each attack. For the briefest moment, Clarke remembers her Madi sparring with Ethan in the pit, the way she danced away from his blade and overwhelmed him into submission. She shudders.

“Very good,” Luna says. “Remember, if your opponent cannot touch you, they cannot beat you. No one can hurt you.”

Madi nods solemnly.

It is easy for Clarke to read between the lines:  _ the flame keepers cannot hurt you _ . Clarke grits her teeth and hopes that Luna is right. As much as she respects Gaia, she would never want her to put the Flame into anyone’s head, in any lifetime. Not after the horrors she’s seen.

“Clarke’s turn,” Madi says, brightening and skipping over to where Clarke stands.

The impulse to argue is strong but the urge to wipe Luna’s taunting smirk off her face is stronger. This, Luna and Madi cajoling her, is a regular occurrence here, Clarke realizes. She grins and sheds her jacket.

“Bring it,” she says.

Clarke has kicked her share of ass in her own lifetime; the word “scrappy” is among the first adjectives she ascribes to herself privately. “Scrappy” is not quite enough to describe her capabilities here. This Clarke has spent her time carefully observing Luna’s technique and practicing. This Clarke relies on combat knowledge as much as she does improvisation. This Clarke is a bit of a beast.

Luna gives as good as she gets, the would-be-Commander coming out of her corner. For someone so consistently passive across timelines, she is surprisingly aggressive in a fight. 

Clarke is mindful of not letting Luna get her arms around her; she does not relish the possibility of Luna throwing her to the ground. Once was enough.

Their sparring lasts until they are both doubled over, panting heavily. Clarke laughs; she still can’t beat Luna, but at least she can hold her own with her.

“Not bad. Feel better?” Luna asks quietly, offering Clarke her hand. Clarke takes it and nods. “Good. I’m going to go make lunch.”

The day passes in tranquility for the trio. They work together to complete their chores. They bicker without any real heat behind it. Madi peppers them with questions about life before Praimfaya, mostly about Octavia, who is still Madi’s favorite, much to Luna’s chagrin. Clarke doesn’t blame her, especially if this timeline also contains Blodreina; that was a confrontation Clarke would happily skip. When night falls and fatigue spreads through their limbs, they cuddle together in the back of the Rover, Madi’s head in Clarke’s lap and her feet in Luna’s. Clarke chuckles softly to herself.

She envies this Clarke for having someone physically there to share the burden with her, but she is also grateful to Luna for being there for this Clarke and this Madi. They have a good life here. Probably better than her own. Despite her envy, she hopes their happiness continues after she leaves.

It’s easy to imagine the blissful contentment as her own with Madi snoring lightly in her lap, thoroughly tuckered out by the day’s activities. Luna smiles affectionately at the child and gently lifts Madi’s legs off her lap and sets them down, tucking a blanket around her.

“I’m guessing he didn’t answer?” she asks after a moment. She doesn’t have to specify whom she means. They both know.

In her own timeline the calls to Bellamy were her tether to her sanity, to the best parts of who she was. The ritual was a necessity, as vital to her as breathing or sleep. Having another semi-functional adult around to talk her through the tough choices in  _ this  _ life...that desperate need is not there. Not in the same way, at least. So what drives this version of herself to keep calling with little hope of an answer?  _ Love _ , her mind supplies helpfully. Clarke sighs, heavily. “No. Not even a crackle to break up the static. It’s like they just…vanished.”

“They’re up there,” Luna replies, her gaze fixed on the stars shimmering above. “Raven’s with them; they’ll come back to us…when it’s safe.”

“It feels futile.” Relief rushes through Clarke. She never said as much in her own life, never once voiced her frustrations to Madi or anyone else how exhausting it was to call out to someone she loves, praying to whatever deity might be out there that someone might hear, with no answer but the whistling wind; at least some version of herself gets to breathe the words.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I have been shouting into the ether for 1472 days and have no idea if Bellamy is even  _ alive _ .” Was he alive in this life? Pain stabs Clarke’s heart; she has no way of knowing.

Luna glances sharply at Madi’s sleeping form. The girl smacks her lips and rolls to her side but continues to slumber. “Are you  _ trying _ to wake the bear?”

“Sorry.”

“Look,” Luna says, gentler now, “I didn’t know Bellamy that well here on Earth; but, based on your stories of him, I know that he is smart enough and capable enough to make it through this. Between him and Raven, I’m sure they’re fine. They are  _ all _ fine. They just don’t know we made it too. And if you give up, they might never know.”

She’s right, of course. Something could change in this life. Just because  _ her  _ Bellamy never heard, doesn’t mean the one in this life won’t.

Luna drapes a warm, comforting arm around Clarke’s shoulders. She leans into it, resting her head on Luna’s shoulder, and slowly cards her fingers through Madi’s hair. She realizes she can’t stay forever, knows that this moment has already come and gone, but she still wishes, a soft hopeless wish, to freeze this moment, to stay just a few more minutes. However, the increasingly familiar tug is pulling her back; she’s fading out.

Her last conscious thought is of Luna’s words, not spoken to her, but to the starry sky above. “We  _ will _ meet again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn’t it nice to see Luna? We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Taylor on [Tumblr](https://skepticalbeliever1.tumblr.com/), Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stealjasonsjob) and Elle on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/hopskipaway)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you on Sunday for a new chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A face that Clarke hasn't seen in quite a while shows up in the next universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 is here! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter & intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Miranda.](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Madison & Miranda are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

“Can I ask you a question?” 

Clarke is idly walking through the hallway, trying to decide which universe she wants to see next, Bellamy walking beside her. 

“I thought you could just read my mind,” she says a little absently, not fully paying attention. There’s a sketch of her and Raven and her mom at dinner, which piques her interest. But right next to it is one with Roan, Bellamy, and herself with locked hands and someone wrapping some fabric around them, equally as intriguing. 

“I thought you didn’t want me to.” 

“I thought you would do it anyway.” 

“I thought—” he cuts himself off with a huff, shaking his head. “I’m not having this argument with you. Can I ask you the question or not?” 

Clarke keeps her attention on the walls, trying to hide her small smile. Anomaly Bellamy is just as easy to rile up as her Bellamy. 

“Go for it.” 

He hesitates for a moment, long enough that Clarke turns away from the wall to look at him. There’s that dip in his brow, the one her Bellamy always wore when he was trying to figure out how to phrase something. 

“Spit it out,” she prods, amused. 

“Why are you so hell-bent on seeing these universes before you make your decision?” 

She thinks about it for a second, not 100% sure of the answer. Yes, her original request had been tied to her guilt over her history of making decisions that get people killed. But she’d be lying to herself if she said that was the only motivator in continuing to experience all of these alternate timelines. 

“At first, it was because I wasn’t going to make a decision that large without as much information as possible.” 

“But you’ve seen other universes, now. And you’ve asked me questions about others. You can’t tell me due diligence is the only thing keeping you going at this point.” There he goes again, seeing right through her...just like his lookalike. 

“I always hated when Bellamy did that, you know,” she admits. He gives her a confused look, and she sighs. “He had a bad habit of seeing past whatever wall I had up. It was a pain in the ass.” 

“But based on memories, it also kept you alive...and sane,” he smirks. 

Clarke goes back to studying the wall, wanting something else to focus on. He doesn’t push her, staying leaned up against the opposite wall patiently. 

“Hope,” she sighs after a long stretch of silence. “I don’t have a lot of it back in my own timeline. And as painful as it is to see other versions of me living happily ever after, it gives me hope to see other people having a second chance.” 

Bellamy doesn’t respond, and she turns around half expecting him to have left her alone. But he’s still there, studying her curiously. 

“I want to show you something,” he says eventually. Clarke gives him a dubious look, because the last time he showed her something, she went through the worst physical  _ and _ emotional pain she’s ever experienced all in one swoop. 

But the look in his eyes holds that challenging glint she’s never been good at saying no to, so she takes his outstretched hand and follows him around the corner. 

The sketch is void of people, just a solitary bridge that she recognizes from so many years ago. She reaches out her hand and succumbs to the familiar fall. 

* * *

Clarke opens her eyes to sunlight trickling through the trees. She blinks, trying to adjust to the sudden change in light when someone nudges her shoulder. 

“You alright?” a familiar voice that she hasn’t heard in over 130 years asks. Tears spring to her eyes as she turns to look up at none other than Wells Jaha. He’s in his Ark-issued clothes, a concerned look on his face. Everything in her wants to throw herself into her old friend’s arms, but she stops herself. 

_ He lived. _

In this universe, one of the kindest souls and Clarke’s childhood best friend had lived. He’s here, at her side the way that she’d spent so many nights wishing for in the months following his death in her own universe. 

So she blinks back her tears and gives him a genuine smile. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Come on, lovebirds,” Miller remarks, pushing past them to lead the way. Wells rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, but makes no comment as he intertwines their hands and pulls her along. 

She’s confused for just a split second before the memories hit her. Her hating Wells when they got to Earth just like in her universe. Them getting into a huge fight that first night on the ground, and it ending with him yelling that it was Abby who got her dad floated. Him holding her as she cried that night, and then him becoming her rock in the weeks that followed. 

In this universe, their friendship had turned into something more in that first month on the ground. He’s her partner in this life, the person she turns to when she can’t carry the weight on her own. He adores her and she admires him and they have that easy relationship where everything just fits. 

But there is someone missing from a large part of her memories: Bellamy. In this universe, he had left during their day trip to the depot. Wells had accompanied them, and she had no reason to force him to stay behind. So he’d just...left. 

It’s a hard pill for Clarke to swallow, the idea that this version of Bellamy would leave Octavia behind in camp—that he would leave  _ her _ behind.  _ You two will be better for her than I ever was _ .  _ And you clearly don’t need me _ , she remembers him saying with a sad smile on his face with a look to Wells behind her as he turned to walk away into the night. 

The group makes their way through the forest on their way to meet Anya. Lincoln, Octavia, and someone else that Octavia has been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about had helped them arrange a meeting with the grounder leader. In this universe, it seems both sides are more open to peace. Clarke has no doubt that Wells being alive has played a huge role in that. 

The old bridge, the one that would’ve been blown up in about a week’s time in her own reality, comes into view. Anya is already there standing with Lincoln and someone Clarke can’t quite make out at this distance. 

But as they get closer, she recognizes the dark curls and freckle-filled face of the man—another version of the man she has loved in so many universes, including her own. Octavia takes off at a run to embrace both men, a massive smile on her face. She then turns to Anya and gives a respectful bow before motioning for the others to join her. 

It’s a weird battle of emotions that crash through her upon seeing Bellamy. There is part of her—the part of her not from this reality—who is so relieved to find him alive and okay. He must have joined up with Anya and Trikru after he left that night, which means he’s the mystery grounder who has been helping Octavia and Lincoln negotiate peace. Immense pride bursts inside Clarke’s chest at the idea. 

But there’s also an edge of anger at him. Anger at him for joining the same people he hated just a month ago, anger at him for abandoning his sister, anger at him not telling her his plan. And if she’s being honest with herself, anger at him leaving  _ her. _

_ I miss him,  _ she realizes. Well, this version of Clarke misses him. Not in a romantic sense, and not the way she misses him in her own life. But there’s that ache in her chest, that tinge of melancholy at seeing him seemingly happy without them—without her. 

She squeezes Wells's hand a little tighter, wanting to ground herself in his presence. She loves him in this universe. Well, she also loved him in her own. But it’s different here. It’s deeper, something that goes so much farther than just the friendship they’d cultivated as kids growing up together. 

So she takes solace in his presence for just a moment before she releases his hand and steps forward. Anya gives her a calculating once-over, just as intimidating in this reality as she’d been in her own. 

“Skaiprisa,” she says, a slight edge in her voice. “Bellamy and Lincoln speak highly of you.” 

Clarke’s eyes flicker to Bellamy, who stands just a few steps behind Anya. “And Lincoln tells me you are an honorable leader.” 

They stand there sizing each other up for a few tension-filled moments before Anya speaks again. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just wipe out your people and be done with it?” 

Remembering how this meeting went in her own time, Clarke’s eyes flicker to the treeline. Because she doesn’t have Bellamy on her side this time to protect her. And she hasn’t brought backup. If Anya’s plan is to take her out, then she has an open shot. 

“You need us, and we need you,” Wells answers from where he stands a few steps behind Clarke. 

Anya doesn’t look impressed by that response, and Clarke elaborates, “We can help you bring down the Mountain. And you can help us survive the ground.” 

The words leave Clarke’s mouth on instinct, and she freezes for a split second. In her reality, they hadn’t known about the Mountain Men at this point. But then she remembers that in this timeline, the Mountain Men had kidnapped a few of their people a few weeks ago. They’re trying to get them back just like the grounders want to get their own people back. 

“And what makes you think we can’t bring down the Mountain ourselves?” 

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but if you could do it alone, you’d have done it already. We have a mutual enemy. Let this be the start of a mutually beneficial alliance between our peoples.” Clarke stands tall, unwilling to buckle under the weight of Anya’s stare. If this Anya is anything like the Anya from her own timeline, then Clarke can count on her being a respectable leader who will do anything to help her people—even starting an alliance with Skaikru. 

She seems to think it over carefully, but Clarke can feel in her gut that she isn’t going to budge. Anya thinks of the 100 as a nuisance and a threat, not a potential ally against an enemy. Clarke can’t even entirely blame her—they’re just a bunch of teenagers trying to survive. 

Bellamy must sense the same thing because he steps forward. “It’s a good plan, Anya. They could be useful to have on our side.” 

Clarke tries not to let the word  _ our  _ bother her, as if he isn’t one of the 100 anymore.  _ He never technically was _ , she reminds herself. He’d come down to protect his sister, not as a delinquent. And while in Clarke’s universe he’d become so much more than a stowaway, maybe that wasn’t the case in this one. The thought saddened Clarke. 

“A ceasefire.” It’s not exactly an alliance, but Clarke will certainly take it. 

“A ceasefire,” she agrees. Bellamy gives her a small smile from over Anya’s shoulder, and Clarke gives him a nod of gratitude. 

“I don’t trust you, Skaiprisa. Or your people.” Clarke swallows hard as Anya gives her a final once over. “Prove to me that I’m wrong.” 

With that statement, she turns back to the other side of the bridge. Clarke watches unmoving as she disappears into the treeline before releasing the breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding in until now. 

“That went better than I thought it would,” Wells murmurs, coming up beside her. She leans into him, letting his solid frame support some of her weight. 

Octavia gives Lincoln a lingering kiss before sending him on his way, which leaves Bellamy as the last one from Anya’s group standing on the bridge. 

“Thank you,” Clarke tells him, a little awkward. How’s she supposed to act around him? They are strangers, yet somehow still allies. And while he doesn’t know anything about Clarke, she can still read every expression that crosses his face after years of practice in her own timeline. It’s a weird place to be in—to know him but not as well as she does in her own timeline. A first for her in these alternate realities. 

“For?” he asks, an eyebrow quirking in amusement. Clarke fights the urge to roll her eyes. God, sometimes she forgets how much of an ass he was when they first landed. 

“Don’t be difficult. Just accept the gratitude for helping set this up,” she snarks back, a smirk on her face. He just chuckles, giving her a nod. Octavia gives him a bearhug before stepping back. 

“I love you, big brother. We miss you around camp.” 

“I highly doubt that,” he muses, and Clarke thinks she must imagine the way his eyes flicker over Octavia’s shoulder to her before he focuses back on his sister. “But I love you too, O.” 

They part ways after that, Octavia, Wells, Miller, and Clarke heading back to the dropship. Everyone is excited to learn that there will now be a ceasefire, which means Raven can start focusing on communications rather than bullets. And Monty can start figuring out how to grow food rather than worry about learning how to fire a gun. 

“Bellamy is with Trikru now,” Clarke mentions to the group surrounding the fire that night. “Which means we have someone who can help sway the grounders’ opinion of us.” 

It gets quiet as everyone exchanges surprised glances. 

“Is he okay?” Harper asks, looking a bit scared to know the answer.

Clarke nods. “He is. He seems happy.” 

“Maybe he found where he truly belongs,” Wells says beside her, a hand coming up to rest on her shoulder. She gives him a smile that she knows doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Yeah, maybe so.” 

A part of her wants to scream that he belongs with them, not Trikru. But she knows that’s not true, not in this universe. Hell, maybe not even in her own. Would things have gone differently if he had joined Trikru back when he first talked about leaving camp, finding his own path? 

She sighs, pushing the thoughts from her mind. It won’t do her any good to lament how things could have been different for Bellamy, and it’s taking away from experiencing the beauty of this reality. 

Wells is alive. Bellamy is alive. The 100 is safe. And this Clarke is happy. Four things she’d kill for in her own timeline; four things she  _ did _ kill for in her own timeline. So she’s going to enjoy it while it lasts. 

So she relaxes with her friends under the stars, reveling in the smiles and laughter that fill the air. She drinks too much of the moonshine Monty and Jasper made, and she laughs at Raven’s jokes. She holds Wells' hand, and she debates with Murphy. For once in her life, she enjoys taking a night off from surviving to just...live. 

Eventually, it’s time for bed and everyone separates to their tents or the dropship. 

“I can walk just fine,” she complains as Wells wraps an arm around her to help her. But when she stands she wobbles, and he just chuckles. 

“Sure you can.” She ends up letting him half carry her back to their shared tent, feeling floaty and giddy. 

“I miss you,” she half slurs as he helps her out of her boots. The moonlight filters through the open flap of their tent, lighting up his face in the darkness and causing a wave of tenderness for the boy she lost to overtake her. 

“I’m right here, Clarke,” he says amused, leaning forward from his spot kneeled in front of her to press a quick kiss to her pants-clad knee. She giggles at the gesture, and he smiles at her. “Someone had quite a lot of moonshine tonight, huh?” 

She just shrugs playfully before falling back against their connected cots. He pulls her back into a sitting position to help her out of her jacket and makes quick work of a sloppy braid to keep her hair out of her face. Clarke just sits silently enjoying Wells fussing over her, letting the love this version of Clarke feels for him bloom in her chest. 

When he’s done, he cups her cheek and gives her a gentle forehead kiss. In her drunken state, she wonders what it would be like to kiss him for real. And then she realizes she can find out. 

She grabs his wrist, keeping his hand in place against her cheek. Then she uses her other hand to wrap around his neck and pull him down to her lips. The first kiss is soft, hesitant. But once she gets her bearings she deepens it, tilting her head to give him better access. 

Wells was her first kiss in her own timeline, but they had been 12 and it was less a true kiss and more a smacking of lips. But this? This is a kiss. His hands are gentle against her face, but his lips are dominating against her mouth. And she gives as good as she gets, nipping at his lower lip until he opens for her. 

It feels different than she imagined it would. Wells had always been kind, a little shy. She figured he’d kiss her the way he treats her in everyday life—with that unwavering gentle support. But no, Wells commands her attention and leaves her breathless. 

When she licks into his mouth, he groans and pushes her back against their makeshift bed. His hands move from her face to her waist, and her hands cling to his back wanting him even closer. 

His fingertips skim underneath her shirt. Another round of giggles erupts, and he pulls back to look at her questioningly. 

“Your hands are cold,” she says between giggles, and he lets out a regretful moan as he drops his head to her collarbone. “What’s wrong?” she pouts, a hand coming up to play with the collar of his shirt where it meets the back of his neck. 

“You’re drunk.” His voice comes out a little muffled against her skin, but after a few moments, he pulls himself back into a standing position. 

“I’m not!” She totally is, but she doesn’t want him to stop. This Clarke could go to sleep and experience this another night—another 100 nights. But she will only get one shot at this, and in her intoxicated state with all of these lovely feelings floating around in her chest for Wells, it’s something she desperately wants to experience.

But then a hiccup escapes, and Wells looks at her as if that proves his point. She guesses it kind of does, but she’s not happy about it. 

“I love you, but we’re going to bed, babe.” He smiles at her, giving her a final lingering kiss. 

Not wanting to sound like a petulant child, she resigns herself to the fact that the moment is over. And honestly, it’s probably for the best. Sex with Wells would just make it worse when she is pulled back into a universe where he no longer exists. 

He wraps her up in his arms as they settle in to sleep, and she revels in the solid feel of his chest against her cheek and the way his arms cradle her to him. She feels safe and cared for and loved. 

“I wish this could have been real,” she murmurs barely above a whisper, sleep and a familiar dizziness pulling at the edges of her mind. She fights both off, wanting to stay awake and in this universe for just a moment longer. 

“This is real, love,” he whispers back, lips grazing her temple. “Go to sleep, Clarke.” 

He’s not entirely wrong. This universe exists out there somewhere—a universe where everyone she loves isn’t dead and she was actually able to find a sliver of peace for herself and her people. But it’s not real for her. It’s a figment of a life that could have been, a snapshot of a world just outside of her reach. 

As the darkness finally takes her, Clarke’s last coherent thought is that this Clarke better appreciate the rare and precious thing she’s found on the ground: happiness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wells!!!! How you have been missed! We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stealjasonsjob) and Miranda on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/sparklyfairymira/) & [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/sparklyfairymi1)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> While there will be no new chapter on Tuesday, check out or social media on Tuesday for some fun! A new chapter will be up on Thursday!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke dropped into a universe where she has to make life-altering decisions? Why isn't she surprised?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We ran a contest on Tuesday since we weren't sharing a chapter. While Steve was the winner with "Writers Justifiably Rejecting Canon", he requested that the prize go to the second place winner: [Mand on Twitter](https://twitter.com/anxib1tchoI0gy) who came up with "Witnessing Jason Relentlessly Choke". We will be contacting you shortly!!!
> 
> Chapter 12 just for you! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Tricia.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellarkeness/pseuds/bellarkeness)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Miranda.](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Madison & Miranda are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

She’s not surprised when she opens her eyes to find a different pair looking back at her. A smile takes over her face, and she basically runs to hug Wells. 

“I know it’s not my Wells, and I know it’s technically the same manifestation with a different face, but I don’t really give a fuck so hug me back, dammit,” she basically rambles, her eyes closed and her arms locked tight around his neck. 

Anomaly Wells chuckles, returning her embrace. After a few moments, she pulls back, that huge smile still lit up from cheek to cheek. 

“You seem happier to see Wells than you were to see Josephine,” he chuckles. Clarke visibly shudders at the memory of Josephine waiting for her after that first alternate timeline of her and Bellamy’s...extracurricular activities on the ground. 

“Childhood best friend versus psychopath who stole my body? Yeah, definitely happier to see Wells.” 

He just gives her a look that says fair point. 

A small wave of guilt hits Clarkes as they stand there staring at each other. Before seeing him in that most recent alternate universe, it had been a long time since Clarke had given her old friend much thought. She’d never really had time to mourn him back on Earth; it seemed like there was always a new threat looming that needed her undivided attention. 

And after a while, she learned to put him in a box in the back of her mind so that she didn’t have to think about him. That wasn’t fair to him, to the boy who was her rock growing up. 

“Is he happy?” she asks. “In his other lifetimes. Does he get to experience everything life has to offer?” 

Wells smiles, nodding. “He does. In some, you two fall in love. In others, he remains by your side as a friend and confidant. In others, he forges his own path. Just like everyone.” 

Clarke lets the idea marinate in her mind, wandering over to the wall. A sketch of Arkadia catches her eye, and she decides that’s where she’ll go next. 

“Good,” she murmurs, hand already reaching for the next universe to explore. “He deserves to be happy.” 

“Everyone deserves happiness,” his voice drifts through hazily as she falls yet again. 

  
  


* * *

Clarke jolts awake, the realization that she’s in a new universe hits her. She pushes herself into a sitting position, scanning the room for him. She finds the room is empty but there is a list scattered on the table giving her a small clue to where she was. Clarke glances at the names printed in neat columns and she groans, scrubbing a hand over her face. She wants to scream at the unfairness of the entire situation but knows it will do no good. It never did any good before. She closes her eyes as she takes a deep steadying breath. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Clarke whispers to no one. “We don’t have a choice.”

“I don’t think we ever had a choice,” Bellamy calls from the doorway, holding up two glasses. “I figured we would need a drink.”

“Do you think we can do this with one day left?”

“No, but we will,” Clarke mutters, stacking the papers. “Just like we always do.”

Clarke divides the parchment in half holding each pile in the air for him to choose. He picks the one in her left hand, his fingertips grazing hers. She quickly looks away and down at her own list, avoiding his gaze. Clarke starts making marks next to the names that shouldn’t be considered. She feels her gut tightening with every name that gets a mark. She hates that they have to go through the list, but knows without it their survival won’t happen—although hopefully, it won’t have the same results as her own universe.

“How are you doing?” Bellamy asks, pulling her from her thoughts. “I feel like I’m sending people to their deaths.”

“We only have room for a hundred people, Bell,” Clarke whispers. “That is exactly what we are doing.”

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” Bellamy says grabbing her hand. “We will do this...together.”

Clarke smiles softly at the reminder he gave her about Mount Weather. She often forgets that she doesn’t have to do this alone. She gently squeezes his hand in return as a thank you for everything. It was a small notion but all she could afford right now. 

“We’ve only got two spots left, why don’t we take a break?” Clarke suggests after the pages started to swim together. “I can’t see straight anymore.”

“Yeah, I think I’m there too,” Bellamy agrees, standing to stretch his limbs. “I’ve got a place I want to show you.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

Clarke follows behind him as they make their way through the forest. She had asked him where they were going but he refused to spoil the surprise. They walk in silence, a heaviness weighing between them both. She is trying to ignore the feeling to just enjoy the time with him. 

“Where are we going, Bellamy?”

“Oh c’mon, Princess,” Bellamy said, turning around to face her, walking backward. “Where is your sense of adventure?”

“It died in Mount Weather,” Clarke deadpans with a shrug. “Are you going to tell me now?”

“Not a chance.”

Clarke rolls her eyes as he whips back around, continuing to move forward. Her ears perk up as she hears a rumbling sound growing louder as they move. Her heart rate picks up when she realizes where they’re headed. Clarke holds herself back from running towards the edge. She has been looking forward to finding the falls but she never had time. All of the delinquents had been there at one point or another. Memories of Monty describing it as a place of tranquility and Murphy mentioning the adrenaline rush of jumping from the edge. Clarke is always craving the sense of peace Monty had described and possibly wants the adrenal kick it will give her to jump.

“Surprise!” Bellamy shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “I found them the other day while hunting.”

“I can’t believe you finally found it.”

“You ready?”

“Ready for what?” Clarke asks, backing away slowly. “I don’t think this is a good…”

Clarke shrieks as he grabs her hand, pulling her towards the edge. She knew he was plotting something from the mischief dancing in his eyes. 

“C’mon Clarke, sometimes the only way is jumping,” Bellamy says squeezing her hand. “I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

Clarke closes her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart. She opens them slowly, her blue eyes finding his warm brown ones. She smiles brightly just before gripping his hand tightly, running towards the edge. Clarke laughs as he stumbles, just a little, at her quick turn around but catches up with her easily. She pushes off the edge just a second before him, her scream piercing the air. She feels the instant rush of adrenaline as they plummet to the water below. Clarke holds her breath as they crash into the surface, her arms and leg twisting with the tumultuous waves. She breaks the surface with a gasp, turning around and searching for him. 

“Over here, Princess,” Bellamy calls to her from a calmer side of the water. “I can’t believe you jumped!”

“You practically begged me to jump!” Clarke yells splashing him with water. “Can we go again?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Bellamy agrees, pulling her from the water. “I guess you’re not afraid of heights.”

Clarke feels the weight of everything pressing down slowly lift with each jump that they take off the cliff. She pulls herself up onto a large flat rock that is along the edge of the falls. She lays down on it, soaking up the sun that is beating down on them. Clarke laughs as Bellamy climbs up, flopping down beside her. She smiles up at him as he leans over her. 

“How are you feeling?” Bellamy asks with a grin. “Is your mind a little clearer?”

“I’m feeling better, my mind is clear,” Clarke responds with a snort. “Do we really have to go back?”

“If we don’t, who will decide?” Bellamy questions as his grin fades. “We owe it to everyone to give them the best possible chance.”

“Then let’s head back.”

Clarke reluctantly picks herself up off the rock they had been laying on. She reaches down to grasp his hand, pulling him up. She catches his eyes and sees a solemness in them that she is positive reflects in her own. Neither of them wants to return to the executioner's list, but they don’t have a choice. She sighs heavily before forging forward—back to the broken ship turned shelter. 

Clarke remains silent as they return to the Ark, feeling slightly uncomfortable in her damp clothing. She can feel the guilt tightening in her chest as they make their way through the ship and to their rooms. Clarke isn’t ready to return to the list, wishing Bellamy could sense it and offer another distraction. She knows their time is limited and shrugs off the feeling, but before she can head into her room when a hand stops her short. Clarke’s gaze travels from where his hand holds her, up his arm, finally stopping on his face. She sees the unspoken question, the silent demand, the call to her soul. She closes her eyes, nodding just once as she follows behind him—she’s always following him, except the one time in her own universe that had ended tragically. She shakes her head, not wanting to go there. 

“Princess…” Bellamy whispers the nickname like a prayer, or maybe it’s a curse. 

“Yes, Bellamy,” Clarke answers his unvoiced plea.“It’s always been yes.” 

Clarke feels the chill of the steel as it presses against her back. She raises her arms to curl around his neck as his lips brush hers tentatively, making butterflies dance in her stomach. She pushes onto her tiptoes, bringing them closer as she seeks to deepen the kiss. Clarke groans into his mouth as he lifts her off her feet. She feels her heart starting to hammer against her ribcage, and she wonders for a moment if he can feel it too. Clarke feels weightless as he carries her to the cot in the corner. She notices her hands are shaking as they struggle with the buttons on her shirt. She feels the nerves lighting up her senses as she realizes this is happening.

“Let me.” Bellamy swallows hard, his throat bobbing as he reaches for the buttons. “I’ve got you.”

Clarke watches as he slowly unbuttons her shirt revealing the threadbare tank top. She sucks in a breath as his fingertips gently graze the top edge of the lace. She can feel her heart pounding as he reaches for the hem, pulling it over her head. Clarke leans back on her hands, her chest heaving as he takes in the sight of her. She feels the rough pads of fingers trailing against her delicate skin. Her body explodes into goosebumps as she feels her nipples tighten against his chest.

“Bellamy…”

Clarke shivers as he grasps her neck, pulling her towards him. His lips crash against hers, and he is firm and demanding—opening her mouth to his and driving his tongue between her lips. She feels dizzy, lightheaded. A hand cups her cheek as his lips move against hers with sheer intensity, inciting a noise from her that's part whimper, part moan. She breathes against his mouth as his stubble grates along her skin and he is deepening the kiss. Her teeth nip his bottom lip before he finally tears his mouth off hers and lets his forehead rest on hers. His palms cup her cheeks and her mouth parts, her breathing is erratic. 

"Tell me this is ok," Bellamy whispers against her lips and she swallows. “That we are okay.”

Clarke feels her whole body trembling from the sheer intensity of his demand. Her hands move up, encircling his forearms, letting her thumbs brush his pulse points before she attempts to move her mouth back to his. Clarke feels him exhale sharply against her lips as he only allows her to get close enough so they lightly skim his. She knows he needs a response but for the life of her can’t make her lips form words. 

"Clarke," he whispers against her lips. “Tell me…”

Her whole body breaks at the disbelief that this is happening again. That he actually has his mouth on her skin, his hands in her hair, his body pressed intimately against hers, asking her for permission even though she’s already given him that before. She's never seen this side of him and she's trying to wildly reconcile it with the man he was before, in her own universe. The man who had yelled “ _ Whatever the hell we want _ ” to the crowd of delinquents. 

"Bell, it's ok," Clarke breathes in response, the answer exhaling into the crook of his neck. 

Clarke feels the relief exhale from his lungs as his face moves back to hers. She takes in his soft expression and she can practically sense his nerves, thudding beneath the cage of his chest. Clarke pushes up to kiss him again. Her mouth melding intimately with his, easing any doubt he might have. Her lips widen, parting his and she holds her breath as his tongue slides in to meet with hers once again. She feels his hand slipping down the contours of her torso, descending down the plains of her stomach until his palm closes over soft cotton.

"We shouldn't," Bellamy exhales against her temple and she is shaking. “It will change everything.”

Clarke nods her response as words fail her again. Her fingers sink into the muscle of his bicep, before letting her eyes slip closed. She feels his mouth latch onto her exposed neck and she groans. Her palms find his shoulders and she makes her descent, caressing his chest. She watches him swallow, catching the hue of red in his cheeks at the feel of her fingertips. She pulls him closer, their skin uniting as he lowers himself to her. Her heart pounds as his heavy arms wrap around her, his palms coasting up her spine, drawing her more intimately against his chest. She sways in his hold, her heartbeat a solid thump as his hands rake through her hair, her body shuddering as his upper thigh moves forward, pressing intimately between her legs.

"Let it change everything," Clarke breathes into his neck and she just wants to sink into him. She has never wanted anything so badly in her whole life and it’s not just her, she knows from her memories that this universe’s Clarke desires nothing more. She wonders if he will be like the other versions of himself or if he will be different.

Clarke lets her hand trail down his stomach, enjoying the way his muscles tense and shift. She fumbles with his belt and buttons on his pants. She releases him, watching as his pants slip down. Clarke reaches out to stroke him with her free hand. 

Then his mouth is on hers, urgent, insistent as she continues to tug on his cock. As she increases the rhythm, he tears his mouth away to curse, his breath heating her face until suddenly his hand is snaking between her legs. He wedges her legs apart with his thigh, spreading them enough so his fingers are slipping beneath the seam of her panties where they meet her thigh. She holds her breath before groaning as his fingers trail across her liquid heat. Her hand stills on his erection and she is breathless as Bellamy begins to stroke his fingers between her folds, rubbing her slowly until he locates her clit.

“Fuck,” Clarke whispers against his neck.

Clarke clamps her teeth down on her lower lip as she drops her hold on his cock to encircle his neck with both of her arms, sandwiching their bodies closer until his fingers find her entrance, lingering on the cusp of penetration. He wedges his thigh inward again until her legs spread further apart for him and he wastes no time slipping a finger into her. Her head falls back on the wall as he kisses her again, smothering her groan. Her teeth are nipping at his lower lip, inciting low moans that reverberate from his throat as he starts to slide in and out of her folds. Her fingernails sink into his flesh and suddenly he is slipping another finger inside of her. She gasps, not expecting that—two fingers, thicker than expected—a taste of what's to come.

"Damn, Clarke," Bellamy rasps against her mouth and she can barely breathe at the intensity. 

Clarke can feel her body getting slick with sweat, her body arching in rhythm with each thrust. His mouth is on her neck then, his hot breath, wet lips, and tongue drawing intricate circles until he moves forward, his crotch pressing firmly against the inside of her thigh.

Clarke groans into the cocoon of his neck as the base of his palm moves flush up against her clit. 

Clarke reaches between them again and takes hold of his cock once more. She strokes him as he rocks into her—deep, languid penetration, her nipples scraping against his chest with each movement, his thick fingers between her legs—only allowing shallow exhales to escape from her lungs.

"Come, Clarke," Bellamy whispers, his eyes boring into the depths of hers as she sinks back into the cot. Her fingernails of one hand press into the muscles of his shoulder while the other grips his throbbing cock. The way he is staring at her causes her lower abdomen to throb in response.

"You have no idea how long I've hoped to feel..." Bellamy murmurs, his lips slipping back over hers, "...you come." He nips her lower lip—this time more firmly. 

Clarke slides her tongue into his mouth as his fingers curl inside her, igniting a loud whimper. She grips onto him then as the base of his palm presses flush up against her clit, his tongue continuing to trail across hers. The feel of his warm, wet mouth and tongue against hers sends her body and mind into a spin and her breath catches, her walls contract around his fingers and she groans into his mouth as her orgasm takes over.

Clarke feels her body start to still and he slowly begins to slip his finger from her, making her whimper at the loss. She can now feel his firmness, pressing intimately against her thigh, prodding her insistently. She is still catching her breath, still recovering from the explosive orgasm when he attempts to pull away. She doesn’t hesitate, moving down to his waist, dragging his pants down his hips in one clean movement. He raises his hips up, letting her tug the material down until they're cleanly discarded. She eyes his bobbing erection beneath his boxers, swallowing at the sight until her eyes move back up to his.

Clarke knows he’s watching her cautiously now, almost unsure now of how things are going to play out. She moves forward onto her knees while pushing him backward. She groans when she presses herself directly against his erection and his hands come to grasp her hips in response. She lets her arms encircle his neck, drawing their bodies more intimately together as she starts to rock her hips into his.

“Fuck,” Bellamy exhales into her neck, his mouth turning to the side. 

Clarke rocks into him repeatedly as his hands slip from her hips to her ass, hauling her more firmly against his cock. She feels him slide his hands up her waist, reaching for her breasts. She grasps his wrists before they make contact, using the force of her body to move him down until he is flat on his back. She is still holding his wrists as she lowers her breasts against his chest, softly dragging her peaked nipples across his pecks. He groans into the mop of hair that has fallen on his face and she feels his fingers curl in response, aching for her to let him touch her.

"Clarke," he groans, his hip shifting upward in response, trying desperately to meld their bodies together. 

Clarke’s lips curl up into a knowing smile as she lets her tongue trail down the center of his chest, her hot breath cascading down his torso until suddenly, he is twisting his hands around, grasping hers and rolling them over in one quick motion. His bare chest pushes into her breasts, his erection pressing into her thigh as he kisses her. She groans, biting his lower lip as the fiction of his erection and tongue coincide, and her body bucks.

"Bell," she moans as she grinds against him.

Clarke writhes as his hand slides down to her breast, arching into his palm, her eyes drifting to a close when he flicks his thumb firmly across her peaked nipple. She uses her free hand to grasp the side of her panties, pushing them down. Clarke feels him settle himself again. He cups her cheek then, moving his mouth back to hers, kissing her firmly, his tongue dipping into her mouth as he spreads her legs with his thighs. She widens her legs to accommodate him, shifting her body to meld with his but he's purposely keeping his erection from her.

“Bellamy, please," Clarke whispers against his mouth, instead shifting her hips in the hope that they'll finally make contact. "Please," she repeats, out of breath.

Clarke gasps as her hands grip his biceps as he enters her. She closes her eyes tightly against the overwhelming sensation of him. She can feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry, but the emotions are taking over her. 

“ _ Shhhh _ , hey, no,” Bellamy whispers, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t cry.”

“Bell," Clarke whimpers as more tears fall. “I…”

"Clarke," Bellamy exhales, his fingers tightening around their clasped hands as he breathes into her neck. “I know.”

"I love you," Clarke whispers against his mouth. It's three solid beats of silence that pass between them before his mouth is pressed firmly against hers. It’s easier this time—it gets easier every time and it makes her wonder why she never told  _ her _ Bellamy that she loved him. 

Clarke feels her heartbeat thrum as she slowly opens her mouth to breathe and he latches onto her lower lip in response. He hums against her mouth, the vibrations causing her body to break out in goosebumps once more and it's not long before his lips are parting and his tongue is sliding into her mouth. A weak groan rips from the back of her throat as he flicks the tip of his tongue against hers and she begins to throb again with an ever-growing need for release. She clenches their intertwined fingers more firmly, a groan ripping from the back of his throat at her brash demand, and then it's an agonizing few beats of silence until he slides partway before pulling out of her and then driving firmly back in.

Clarke cries out as intense pleasure ripples between her legs—her head practically bumps the wall. He waits then, stilling against her, allowing her body to settle once more before he drives forward a second time, inciting the same noise from her throat.

Clarke groans against his neck and then she feels his hand grasping the crevice of her hip as he slips even further out before slamming back into her. She moans in response as he continues to drive repeatedly between her legs, her breath starting to hitch with each thrust. Her lips part as his palm coasts down the ridge of her thigh until he's grabbing her calf and drawing her leg over his shoulder.

Clarke locks her eyes on his and he squeezes their intertwined palms before he moves forward, his shoulder pressing into her bent leg, as his cock penetrates her much deeper from this position.

"Fuck, Bell," Clarke cries out, her fingers digging into his hand in response, her high pitched yell bouncing off the four walls that surround them.

"Tell me if it's too much," Bellamy rasps against her forehead, stilling momentarily. 

Clarke’s mouth drops open—she can't reply in words so she uses her body to respond instead. She arches into each thrust, using the small amount of leverage she has to meet him square on. He groans in response, their hips colliding in unison as a unified pace starts to build between them.

"Ugh Princess," Bellamy groans into her hair, his face dropping onto the pillow beside her, unable to keep his body weight off her now. 

With the added weight of him pressing into her chest, she can hardly breathe. He is still rocking firmly into her when she feels the beginning of her orgasm, holding her breath as it builds. He is groaning in her ear, gruff noises that make her heart thud with desire. 

Clarke bucks in response as she starts to clench around his cock. She is mouthing curse words now because she has no voice—no strength in her vocal cords, just a heightened state of inconceivable pleasure that's coursing through her. He drives forward once more, rising upward, and knocking her clit with the unexpected angle and she gasps, her climax knocking the wind out of her. She groans as the cot slams against the wall as he continues to thrust into her as she orgasms, tremors of pleasure wracking through her body as she clings to him for stability.

Clarke senses his breathing rapidly escalate with hers, his own orgasm taking hold in response and it isn't long until he is bucking into her, a loud groan filling her ears as his sticky heat spills deep inside her, some slipping out between her legs. She realizes he came inside her, her mouth dropping open, her breathing erratic—unable to comprehend just how intense everything feels. She wonders if it will feel like this in every universe. 

Clarke sighs softly as he stills against her. She doesn't move. Their breathing is erratic and jagged until slowly they start to meld until their chests are expanding and contracting in unison.

“Jesus, Clarke," Bellamy rumbles across her forehead as he sinks back down onto her body. “I love you.”

Clarke doesn't respond with words as the tears track down her cheeks. She wraps her legs around his waist holding him tightly against her body. She attempts to reign in her emotions that are swelling up inside. She doesn’t want to leave this universe, but there aren’t many universes she does want to leave in the end.

“Sleep, Bellamy,” Clarke murmurs stroking his back. “We can finish everything tomorrow.”

Clarke feels him slowly lift himself off of her and lays down gently next to her. She doesn’t turn towards him knowing he’ll see her turmoil lurking in their depths. She knows how this ends and it always brings her pain to remember. She closes her eyes when his fingertips caress her cheek, turning her towards him. 

“Clarke…” Bellamy begins softly. “Don’t shut down on me now.”

“I love you, Bellamy,” Clarke whispers, meeting his gaze. “We’ve been through a lot together...you and I.” She grazes his brow with her fingertips. Clarke feels an intense sense of deja vu crawling up her spine. She feels the echo whispering that reminds her of these words from another life. 

“Yeah, we have,” Bellamy agrees, smiling down at her.

“You’ve got a big heart, Bellamy,” Clarke continues ignoring his statement. “People follow you. You inspire them, because of this,” She presses her palm against his chest just over his heart. “But you’ve got to use your head too.”

“But I’ve got you for that…” Bellamy informs her brushing hair away from her eyes. 

Clarke doesn’t respond but pushes up to seal her lips over his. He is never going to agree with her and let her go. She will just have to alter the list without him knowing. Clarke wraps his arm around her waist as she cuddles into him. She will enjoy the time she has left with him here in this universe. 

Clarke feels a hand grazing her hip, moving the sheet up higher to cover more of her. She smiles briefly before the crushing guilt weighs down on her, a glaring reminder of her past choices. She stills the roaming hand as she turns herself towards him. Clarke snuggles into the warmth of his chest for a few seconds longer. She turns her face up to meet his gaze and her heart shatters. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy rasps, looking down at her. “If I’m on that list...you’re on that list.”

“Bellamy, I can’t,” Clarke sits up taking the blanket with her. She feels tears start to prick her eyes as the memories collide inside her head. She can’t cry in front of him—he won’t understand.

“And you don’t think you deserve it?” Bellamy questions sitting up, knowing exactly why she believes it. “Enough with the martyr shit, Clarke.”

“They’ll never agree with it,” Clarke nearly shouts, throwing her hands in the air. “They’re never going to accept that we both live,” she chokes out as realization settles in that this could’ve changed everything.

“Clarke…”

“No, Bellamy.” Clarke stops him from finishing his sentence. “Think about Octavia,” she whispers, knowing she never thought about her as she shot him. 

“Fuck you, Clarke,” Bellamy growls throwing his hands in the air. “You’re seriously going to let that happen...say you love me...then sacrifice yourself?” he asks, dressing quickly. 

“Bell…”

Clarke watches as he storms out of his room, her response dying on her lips. She feels her heart breaking inside her chest. Her lungs tighten in a death grip, refusing to draw in a breath. So many emotions colliding inside of her as memories war with each other. She feels this universe but still has feelings from her own. Clarke slowly pulls her clothes from the floor and gets dressed. Tears are streaming down her face, clouding her vision. She tries to draw in a deep breath but chokes on a sob that rips from her throat. She stops in her movements as the comms crackle and snap. 

“The list is made,” Bellamy’s voice floats from the speaker above. “Join me out at the gate.”

Clarke hastens her movements, struggling with her pants. She finally manages to fasten them and quickly tugs on her shirt. She makes her way through the throngs of people, making their way outside. Her heart is in her throat as she makes it to him. He’s standing on the tailgate of the rover holding a megaphone. She can feel her heart drop as she fears he will find the same fate here as in her own time. 

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Bellamy begins. “We only have room for a hundred.” He shakes his head collecting his thoughts. “This list gives us our best chance of survival.”

“Why do you get to decide?” someone calls from the crowd. 

“Yeah, why?” A chorus of echos chants. 

“You chose us as your leaders when we first came to the ground,” Bellamy continues, imploring the crowd to listen. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is for everyone. I will read the list…”

Clarke observes the crowd as they grow silent as he begins reading the names. She hears murmurs and whispers race through the people. She listens with the rest of them as he finishes the final ten. No one objects or screams at the unjustness of it. Clarke observes everyone saying goodbye to their loved ones. She feels the wetness coating her cheeks as everything works out, she hates that this never happened in her reality. She turns to Bellamy, attempting to catch his eye as he jumps down, but fails as he storms off. 

“Bellamy, wait!” Clarke yells, chasing him back into the Ark, feeling free for the first time in years. “I’m sorry,” she says as she reaches for his hand. She knows there are a million things for her to say, but knows nothing will change the truth.

“You know, Clarke,” Bellamy starts as he whips around to her. “I’m going to need you to stop trying to be the martyr.”

“I never imagined it would be this easy,” Clarke answers, attempting to shrug off the uncomfortableness of her own reality.

“Princess, how quickly you forget,” Bellamy deadpans, glowering at her. “These people lived on the Ark, where they were floated for stealing necessities,” he explains. “At least now they get to say goodbye.”

“I should have listened to you, Bell,” Clarke whispers with a shrug. “Can you forgive me?” She wants to hear him forgive her for everything, but this isn’t the time or the place.

“Do you regret it?”

“What?” she asks, stumbling backward as flashes from Bardo enter her mind.

“Do you regret it?” Bellamy asks for a second time. “What happened between us…”

“Uh…” Clarke pauses struggling for a response, she wasn’t expecting that question from him. “No, I love you.

“I love you too, Clarke Griffin.”

Clarke watches as he turns to the locking system. She waits for the last of the hundred to move through the door. She wishes that this was how it played out in her lifetime. She reaches up gripping his hand on the lever, preparing to pull it together. Clarke nods to him as they tug the lever down, sealing them inside. She rotates ever so slightly, catching his lips, and kissing him gently.

“My room or yours?” Clarke asks against his lips. 

“Our room,” Bellamy responds, tugging her down the hall. “Definitely our room.”

Clarke once again finds herself following him down to his room. The weight of their decision and the guilt, no longer weighing her down. She knows that this relief is only temporary as this universe is only for a little while. She sighs as she threads her fingers with his gripping gently. Clarke smiles as they make it to their room even as the pain of it hurts. She feels almost weightless as they fall into bed together. She closes her eyes, enjoying the feel of his arms wrapped around her. She wants to stay here with him, like in all the others but knows her time is limited. She will return to the harshness of her reality soon and find herself dealing with the pain. 

Clarke cuddles into his chest as she drifts off, finally feeling at peace. She slowly loses consciousness and fades into the inky blackness that surrounds her. She feels the world slipping away, but is powerless to stop it. As much she wants to stay here forever, she knows it’s time to move forward in her journey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why couldn’t canon have been this good? We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Tricia on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/meaculpas21/), [Tumblr](https://johnmurphysass.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/meaculpas26), Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stealjasonsjob) and Miranda on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/sparklyfairymira/) & [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/sparklyfairymi1)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you on Sunday for a new chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke finds herself in a universe where art (and Bellamy) are her everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 has arrived! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Caro.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cspenc4/pseuds/cspenc4)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Carrie.](https://carrieeve.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Madison & Carrie are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

Wells greets her when she lands back in her mindspace, and she smiles. 

“Last time, Josie didn’t stick around very long. I guess my mind likes having Wells to talk to,” she says a little cheekily. Anomaly Wells grins at her, just like he would when they were growing up. 

“Maybe you missed him more than you thought.” 

He’s not wrong. She does miss him. But for so long, she hasn’t had time to miss anyone—not Wells, her dad, Lexa, Jasper, Monty, Harper, or anyone else they’ve lost along the way. But she does miss them, these pieces of her that are no longer here. And there’s no greater piece missing than Bellamy. Maybe that’s why she keeps conjuring him in her mindspace to walk her through this, maybe it’s just as simple as her missing him. 

A voice in the back of her mind tells her that isn’t the full story, that it isn’t as simple as missing her friend. But sitting here wondering why is a waste of time. She has universes to witness and a decision to make. She has the rest of her life to mourn Bellamy, and she knows she will. 

They are in a new hall now, one she never explored much when she was a kid on the Ark. The walls are filled with images of her and the 100 on Earth, a group of teenagers doing the best to make life and death decisions to save the human race. 

“Why aren’t there more universes where we’re not making life and death decisions?” she wonders, more to herself than to the anomaly. 

But he answers anyway. “If I were really Wells, I’d say it has something to do with destiny.” 

“But you’re not, and destiny is bullshit.” 

“Is it?” She turns to meet his eyes at that, trying to gauge his meaning. “Destiny is a funny thing. Every universe is destined to happen, but that doesn’t mean you are specifically destined to do a certain thing. Some things are just luck of the draw across universes, decisions you had nothing to do with hundreds or thousands of years before you were born.” 

Clarke rolls over the idea in her mind, that while every universe is destined to happen individual destinies are often left to chance. It makes sense, even though she hates the idea that there are universes “destined” to end in tragedy for so many people—such as her current one, it seems. 

“Can you show me a universe where destiny is kinder?” 

Anomaly Wells smiles softly, understanding. And he leads her around the corner to a sketch of herself in front of an easel. She reaches out to touch it, hoping for something peaceful. And then the darkness takes her. 

* * *

Clarke pauses and embraces the feeling of being dropped into a different universe for just a moment, before opening her eyes. It takes a minute for her to adjust to the bright sunlight streaming into the room, but once she is able to focus on her surroundings, Clarke gasps.

She is sitting in the middle of a large art studio, facing a wall of windows that look down onto a busy city. Turning her head, Clarke sees the adjacent wall also looks out onto the city, but through glass doors that lead to a spacious balcony. There is an easel in front of her with a large canvas situated haphazardly on it, and a long table directly behind her covered in jars of brushes, tubes of paint, and colorfully stained palettes. The rest of the studio is a mess, with paintings of every size leaning against any available surface, and two different stacks of charcoal smeared sketchbooks sitting on the floor against a paint-stained couch. 

While she would never give up those six years she’d spent with Madi in the valley, this is her dream space, and nothing can compare to the rush of contentment that descends on her.

Clarke explores the room while she waits for the memories of this life to appear in her mind. She spies several prints of what she assumes are famous paintings hanging on the walls that aren’t made of glass. She notices no pictures of herself or any of her friends in the room and starts to wonder if this is another universe in which she doesn’t know the people she loves most in her own. 

She finds a well-worn book of paintings and while thumbing through the pages, discovers notes written in the margins in her handwriting. Clarke reads through the annotations, learning about Georgia O’Keefe’s watercolors, the shading style of Francisco Goya, and the color palettes of Cecily Brown.

Setting down the heavy tome, Clarke reaches for a sketchbook on the top of the tilting stack near her foot. She smears streaks of charcoal on her hands when she opens the cover, and finds herself looking down at Bellamy.

The sketch on the first page is incredibly detailed, and depicts Bellamy mid-laugh, with black-framed glasses perched on his nose and his head thrown back in delight. Clarke gently traces the sketch, careful not to smear the intricately placed freckles that adorn his cheek. 

Turning the page, Clarke finds Raven, looking straight up from the page with a wide grin on her face. This version of Clarke has even managed to capture a twinkle of mischief in her friend’s eyes, as well as the small wisps of hair that always escape from Raven’s ponytail. 

Clarke finds Octavia, looking over her bare shoulder with a smirk, a tattoo of a butterfly sitting on a snarling wolf inked on her shoulder blade. Next is Murphy, flipping off someone unseen, the scowl on his face betrayed by the laughter in his eyes. She finds Monty looking down at a glass jar with a concentrated look on his face, with Jasper peering over his shoulder and goggles slipping down his head. Miller leans back in a chair, arms crossed and head tilted as he watches Harper doing a backbend on a mat. Emori, sans tattoo and beaming, looks up at Clarke from where she is sitting on the ground, playing with a kitten. 

On and on Clarke flips through the sketchbook, picking up the next one in a trance when she reaches the end. This one has Wells peering at her over the top of a book, Lexa with a raised eyebrow and a stack of folders in her blazer-clad arms, and Lincoln holding a bottle to his lips and grinning. She breathes in sharply when she finds Madi, most of her face turned down, concentrating on whatever she is drawing. On the back of this page, Clarke finds a small note that reads, “Madi- Shadow Valley Foster Home.” Tears begin to prick her eyes as she realizes that even in another universe, she was still able to find her daughter. 

She sets the sketchbooks aside, fascinated by the skill this version of Clarke shows in the pages. Before she realizes it, Clarke is standing in front of the blank canvas on the easel, a brush in hand and an idea forming in her mind. Her hands know what to do, mixing paints and grabbing palette knives, even as she questions how she will use them.

For several hours, Clarke moves in almost a trance, bringing her idea to life without any hesitation. While she works, memories from this life come back to her, and she finds tears tracking down her face as she falls into the life this Clarke has gotten to live.

She remembers her childhood, growing up with Wells in a small community, and then the pain she felt when they grew apart after high school. She remembers meeting Raven at a frat party her first week of freshman year when the older girl punched a drunk guy that wouldn’t let go of Clarke’s wrist. The Raven in these memories is softer, more understanding, but no less intelligent, and she aches for the friend who all but abandoned her in her own timeline.

She catches more glimpses as her friendship with the other girl develops—first as an occasional friend and then as the most important person in her life. She remembers the summer after her sophomore year when the two women shared an apartment and a bed, before agreeing that as much as they enjoyed the sex, they were better off being best friends. 

Clarke remembers the day she met Octavia, who was one grade younger but taking a junior-level class, and their immediate bond. Like Raven, this Octavia is kinder but no less effervescent, and she reminds her of the Octavia that Clarke knew at the dropship, before the chaos, carnage, and war that followed. Just like in her universe, Octavia’s presence in Clarke’s life included the introduction of Monty and Jasper, who became immediate members of her steadily growing friend group. Apparently, their affinity for science and fun extends here as well, as memories of playing drinking games with their homemade moonshine barrel into her mind.

She remembers when Octavia and Raven moved in together, and how the Blake-Reyes apartment became the location for every party. Her mind flashes with images of the three of them, going from dancing in bars to getting brunch while hungover to movie nights with their other friends. She distinctly remembers one night when she, Octavia, and Raven had a little too much tequila and all ended up hooking up on the floor of their living room. She then remembers how that became something of a habit whenever they drank anything with tequila in it.

Clarke also remembers the night Octavia showed up at her door after finding out Lincoln was moving away, and the copious amounts of ice cream they consumed over the next few days. She remembers the two months when both Octavia and Raven stopped speaking to her because of some hurtful words they exchanged over Clarke’s relationship with Lexa.

That was when she became so close with Murphy, the only person (in any universe, apparently) who could compete with her level of sarcasm and dark humor. Clarke remembers reconnecting with him one night while she was alone at a bar, drowning her sorrows in a glass of cheap whiskey.

Seeing her old nemesis from high school was just the kind of distraction Clarke needed that night. After apologizing for bullying her and Wells during their junior year, Murphy sat down next to her and acted as though they had always been the best of friends. For weeks, he was the only person, other than her increasingly distant girlfriend, that she spent time with, and he fit into her life like a missing puzzle piece. 

Clarke remembers breaking up with Lexa when she enlisted in the military, reconciling with Raven and Octavia, and moving in with Murphy after graduation. Moments flash through her mind, showing her glimpses of the several months when she dated Murphy, despite Raven’s continued dislike of the former bully. She remembers the evolution of Raven’s affection for their most sarcastic friend and recalls the day when Clarke realized that she never looked at Murphy the way her friend did.

Weeks after her weirdly amicable breakup with Murphy, Raven brings a friend from her graduate engineering class to game night, and from the second Emori walks in the door, Clarke sees the potential. She quickly bonds with Emori, who is the same as the Emori from her world in every aspect except for the missing face tattoos. 

Even through the haze of old memories, Clarke sees the connection between Raven, Murphy, and Emori. She remembers the three of them solemnly sitting in front of Clarke one night and explaining that they were all dating, and that they hoped she would be okay with that. Clarke’s responding laugh and encouraging, “I already know,” still echos through her mind. 

Taking a break from painting, Clarke thinks back to her own timeline and realizes that the bond between Murphy, Raven, and Emori seems to exist in some form in many universes. She remembers moments from her own universe, like the ease with which they communicated at Becca’s lab before Praimfaya, and the intense concern they showed for each other when they returned from space. A more recent memory of her timeline rushes to the forefront of her mind, and she sees Murphy and Emori rushing down to the reactor when they realize that Raven is alone with Nikki. She sees Raven on the floor of the reactor’s secondary chamber, and the relief on both of their faces as they hold on to her as tightly as they can. 

_ Maybe _ , Clarke thinks,  _ some bonds transcend the limits of time and space _ . 

More memories pour into her mind, and she sees Harper joining their group in college, after meeting Octavia at a martial arts class. Their suddenly not-so-small group of friends grows with the inclusion of Miller, who always looks at them with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. He and Harper become fast friends, bonding over their jobs in private security. Monty and Jasper get jobs together at a local lab, and Clarke volunteers with an art therapy institute when she isn’t in the studio. That is how she meets Madi, a bright and carefree child with no artificial intelligence or battle trauma weighing her down. 

And throughout all of these memories, Clarke finds Bellamy. He is there in her first college class, contradicting her every argument and infuriating her at every opportunity. He shows back up two years later when she becomes close with Octavia, the two of them trying, and failing, not to argue in front of his sister. Bellamy is at her door, checking on her after her break up with Lexa, even though Octavia still isn’t talking to her and she still argues with him every chance she gets. 

Bellamy is there the first time they all go to trivia night, and for the first time, Clarke feels grateful that he is there. He sits across from her in a booth, catching her eye and giving her a knowing smile every time Murphy, Raven, and Emori do or say something that hints at their “secret” relationship. He comes over right after those three come out to Clarke and reacts with just as much encouragement and joy when he sees them holding hands. 

Bellamy is there, falling asleep while grading papers on the paint-stained couch in the corner of her studio, and she gently takes his glasses off and covers him with a blanket. He is there, walking her drunk ass home after a night out, and making sure she has water to drink before crashing on the couch. He is there, touching her shoulder and drawing her attention away from painting, reminding her that it is three in the morning and she needs sleep. Bellamy is there, throwing his head back in laughter as she tells him about accidentally walking in on Raven, Murphy, and Emori having sex in her living room. He is there, looking on proudly as she meets with art collectors at her first exhibition. Bellamy is there, at every showing and gallery thereafter.

Bellamy is there, looking at her with mirth in his eyes while she yells at him.

Bellamy is there, towering over her with a smirk and all she wants to do is punch him.

Bellamy is there, looking at her from across the table, and all she wants to do is kiss him.

Bellamy is there, in every cherished memory, in every piece of her heart, and she knows that her theory is true. Some bonds  _ do _ transcend space and time.

  
  


Tears pour down her face, knowing with certainty that this life is everything she could have ever wanted and more. She knows there are dark moments, like her father’s death, the distance from her mother, and the loss of many relationships. But she also knows that in this world, without the weight of hundreds of lives and multiple wars resting on her shoulders, and with the time and opportunity to spend her life doing what she loves, Clarke feels lighter than she ever has in her own universe. 

Clarke knows with absolute conviction that this version of Bellamy loves her and that this version of Clarke loves him. She also knows that neither of them has done anything about it, too fearful of losing the friendship that has become the foundation of their lives.

Taking a step back, Clarke looks over the finished painting and breathes a sigh of relief. She is in awe that she was able to bring the idea in her mind to life with such skill. This is far beyond her normal skill level of sketching her loved ones with whatever drawing utensils she can find. Her eyes rove over the canvas, taking in the shading and details with a trained eye.

The painting is from her own memories and depicts the river that she tried to cross with Octavia, Jasper, Monty, and Finn on their first day on Earth. Each of her friends is clearly depicted just as they were right before Octavia tried to swing across, but the scene looks like a photograph that is just slightly out of focus. The only part of the painting that is shown in clear detail is in the foreground. Two people hold hands across the bottom of the scene, with only their arms shown. On the left, a long black sleeve ends with a pale wrist and a small hand. On the right, a blue sleeve is scrunched up just below the elbow, and a dark tan hand firmly grasps the small pale one. Even if she hadn’t just painted it herself, Clarke would recognize her and Bellamy’s hands immediately.

The device on the table behind her lets out a small alert, and when she peers at it, Clarke sees a message addressed from Bellamy.  _ Be there to pick you up in 5 _ , the message reads,  _ and don’t forget to change out of your paint clothes. Raven will be pissed if you get oils on her couch again. _

Clarke looks out the windows, startling when she sees that the sun is already starting to set. Finding a duffel bag with a change of clothes in it, she quickly strips and steps into jeans and a pale purple sweater. 

Feeling inspired to use more of the art supplies that surround her, Clarke quickly finds a blank page in one of the sketchbooks and begins to draw. By the time the door to her studio is opening, she has almost completed a pretty detailed sketch of Bellamy.

The subject of her drawing opens the door to the studio with one hand while holding a coffee cup in the other. When he looks around the room and sees her sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, Bellamy just smiles at her casually and gently kicks the door shut behind him. 

“Hey, are you ready to go?” he asks her, dropping onto the couch next to where she is sitting and handing her the cup. 

When she raises her eyebrows at him in question, he rolls his eyes and says, “I figured you probably didn’t get much sleep and I need my partner to be awake and on top of her game tonight.” He nudges her knee with his foot and smiles down at her.

Clarke shakes her head, trying to regain some of the focus she lost the second he walked in the door. Taking a sip of her coffee, she stands up and goes to wash the last of the paint off her hands.

When she turns back around, wiping her hands on a slightly damp towel, Bellamy is standing in front of the canvas with an unreadable look on his face.

“What do you think?” Clarke asks him, too nervous to wait for him to comment on his own.

He doesn’t look away from the painting and replies, “It’s different from a lot of your usual paintings.” He turns and looks her in the eye. “I love it.”

Clarke hums in contentment, pulling on her socks and shoes by the door and walking over to where Bellamy is still standing in front of the easel. When she gets closer, she realizes that he isn’t looking at the painting anymore, but at the sketch she’d just finished before he arrived.

He turns towards her with a questioning look on his face. “I don’t remember what this is from,” he says, gently tracing the edge of the sketch without smudging the charcoal.

Clarke hesitates, wondering how to explain that the memory she drew was from a different life, a different Bellamy. She doesn’t think blurting out, “ _ Oh it’s from when I was held at gunpoint and forced to drive a car full of rocket fuel and you saved my life by shooting the guy in the head while we drove at you going full speed and I braked in time and then you looked up and smiled at me just like that,”  _ would be very helpful.

Somehow she thinks he might be more confused by that. Just a hunch.

So Clarke just smiles and says, “I’m not sure,” and then quickly follows it up with, “So are you ready to go?”

Bellamy sets her sketch down gingerly and looks at her, before laughing and shaking his head.

Clarke frowns. “What?”

He steps closer to her, only inches separating their chests, and murmurs, “You’ve got paint on your face again.” One hand comes up and cups her cheek while Bellamy uses the pad of the thumb on his other hand to gently swipe just below the inner corner of her eye.

Clarke doesn’t breathe. She just watches his face, eyes darting from his eyes to his lips and back again. 

She takes a small, sharp breath in. Bellamy’s eyes snap back to hers when he hears her breath, and he seems to freeze when he notices that she is looking at his lips.

For a moment, everything is silent and still and neither of them moves.

Then Clarke feels Bellamy drop his hands and start to lean back, and she explodes into motion.

Grabbing his face and surging up onto her toes, she presses her lips to his, hoping that he responds in kind and she isn’t messing up this Clarke’s life. For a split second, Bellamy freezes under her, and all she can think is that she made a huge mistake because of her own selfish inability to resist him. Just as she starts to panic and assume that she’s ruined everything, Bellamy is ducking down and responding to her kiss with ferocity.

He wraps one arm around her waist and his other hand slides back up to cradle her face as he deepens the kiss with finesse. Her mouth opens for him and she tentatively tastes him before he is pulling back from her lips and pressing his forehead to hers. They are both panting and Bellamy opens his mouth to speak when a tune starts playing from his back pocket.

He keeps his hand on her cheek and his eyes on hers, but unwraps his arm from her waist and digs in his pocket before pulling out his phone. Without looking away from her, he answers the call and gruffly says, “What?” into the speaker.

Clarke can hear Octavia’s tinny voice coming from the phone. When the younger girl shouts, “You and Clarke better be on your way over or we are going to start playing and put you on different teams!” Clarke steps back, letting Bellamy’s hand fall from her face.

His eyes never leave hers, and he says, “We will be there soon.” before abruptly hanging up the phone and dropping it back into his pocket.

Clarke smiles softly and says, “Come on, let’s get over there before they put us on a team with Jasper.” 

When Bellamy looks like he is going to object, she adds, “I know we need to discuss this.” She gestures at the two of them broadly. “Let’s go have fun with our friends and then we can talk. I promise.”

Bellamy hesitates, then nods and strolls past her to the door.

Once Clarke has a moment to breathe, she suddenly remembers that she can’t actually change the course of this universe. In the heat of the moment, her emotions and this Clarke’s feelings were so in line, she forgot that she is merely a guest here.

The drive to Raven and Octavia’s apartment is quiet, but not uncomfortable. At one point, Clarke grabs Bellamy’s hand and slips hers into it. He doesn’t look away from the road, but she sees a small smile appear on his lips.

They spend the rest of the evening drinking and playing games with their friends, but every so often they exchange a knowing look over their cards. Clarke gets distracted by Raven and Murphy, who are on the other team, taunting their girlfriend, who then proceeds to kick both their asses at spades.

She sits next to Jasper for multiple games in a row, soaking up his affection and contagious energy. Clarke tries to memorize the look in Harper’s eyes as she smirks behind a winning hand, calling Bellamy’s unsuccessful bluff. She strategizes with Monty when they play Monopoly, and she finds herself grinning while watching his emphatic gestures. She watches Octavia and Miller whisper conspiratorially behind their cards before the younger girl plays a draw four card on Murphy. Clarke basks in the glow of her friends, alive and carefree, and laughs more than she ever remembers. 

Clarke feels it when she is starting to be pulled back from this universe. She thinks about resisting it for a moment, just so she can spend one more moment in this glow, but she knows it is futile. Before she is summoned back from this world, Clarke reaches out and grabs Bellamy’s hand under the coffee table. He looks at her and smiles with so much love in his eyes, and she wants to live in that feeling forever. As much as she would like to be there to have that conversation with Bellamy, she knows that this Clarke deserves to be herself for that. 

Just before her vision fades out, Clarke looks down at their joined hands. His hands are still rough, but they are callused from heavy books and lifting weights, not guns and swords. The last image she sees is her small hand in his, paint still caked under her fingernails. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Clarke. We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Caro on [Tumblr](https://carothehotmess.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/carosecofwjrc), Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stealjasonsjob) and Carrie on [IG.](https://www.instagram.com/panbiszkopt/)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you on Tuesday for a new chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke finds herself back on the Ark in a very different situation than in her own universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s chapter 14! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Miranda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myonetruelove/pseuds/Sparklyfairymira)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Brooke.](https://broashwhat.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Miranda, Madison & Brooke are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

She feels herself come back to her own body, but she doesn’t open her eyes just yet. No, she wants to revel in the smiles she just spent a whole evening committing to memory and reliving every moment one more time in her mind. 

But then a cough pulls her from her own thoughts, and she’s forced to embrace the fact that there is a very different life waiting for her. 

Wells is staring at her, that worried look painted across his features. She used to swear it was his natural resting face when they were teenagers. 

A small part of her is surprised Bellamy isn’t back. But then again, maybe her mind isn’t quite ready to face a Bellamy who isn’t real after that universe. 

“Thanks,” she says, breaking the silence. “That was...beautiful.” She can’t think of another word to describe what she’d just experienced. For such a timeline to be real—where the world isn’t constantly in a battle for survival and where her friends are able to quietly exist without the weight of humanity on their shoulders—is a small miracle in and of itself. 

“It’s one of my favorites,” he admits, a sheepish smile on his face. 

“Wait, you have favorites?” Clarke is unable to hold back the giggle at the idea of the anomaly having favorite universes. “So do you have a favorite and least favorite reality for every single person?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s so many favorites,” she laughs, still riding her giddy high from the previous universe. Anomaly Wells notices, a knowing smile curling at the corners of his mouth. 

But then she gets an idea. And it’s a stupid idea, a dumb idea that she should keep locked away to prevent more pain and quite possibly another breakdown. She should just let herself live in this happiness for a minute. Then again, when has she ever been good at that? 

“I want to see your least favorite universe.” 

He rolls his eyes, his smile disappearing quickly. “Of course you do,” he grumbles. She chooses to ignore the comment, looking at him expectantly. 

“If I’m going to decide the fate of all of these universes, I need to see the good and the bad.” 

“Don’t try and spin this as something you’re doing for the good of humanity, Clarke,” he hits her with a hard stare—one that’s seen right through her since she was a kid. “You’re curious, and I’m starting to think you are terrified of being happy for any real length of time.” 

It’s a low blow, one that cuts deep. She doesn’t argue, and she doesn’t scream at him that he’d be scared too if the universe had a habit of pulling happiness out from under her any time she managed to find some for herself. 

Instead, she meets his gaze unflinching. “I want to see it.” 

He deflates a little at that, and the way he bites the inside of his cheek and furrows his brow makes realization wash over Clarke. This is his least favorite of her realities. 

She almost laughs, finding a morbid sense of comfort in the idea that things can’t get _worse_ at least in terms of her happiness. 

“Fine. Your second least favorite.” She crosses her arms over her chest, unyielding. 

He doesn’t move for a few moments, and Clarke wonders if he’s going to refuse to tell her. But eventually, he heaves a deep sigh and walks over to the wall. Once again, he starts sorting through timelines, looking for the moment where he wants to drop Clarke. 

He’s going quickly, and Clake can’t make out much of the scenes as anomaly Wells flips through them. She can see the Ark, her parents..but nothing that would tell her why the anomaly doesn’t like this lifetime. 

Her questions will be answered soon enough, she supposes. When he finds what he’s looking for, he gives her one last pleading look—his eyes silently begging for her to change her mind. But she just nods, reaching out to let the darkness take her. 

* * *

Clarke blinks, stumbling over something and face planting into the wall. 

Well, that certainly isn’t how she expected to start out in this universe. She sends up a few choice words for anomaly Bellamy—even though she knows it’s not truly his fault. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

A hand appears in her line of sight and she takes it, bracing herself because she recognizes not just the voice, but also the hand. She allows him to help her up, forcing a smile as she looks up to face her savior—Bellamy.

But this isn’t the Bellamy that she knew, he’s too young. Trying to keep her face blank, she looks around only to realize that she’s on the Ark. 

What?

Before she can even question it, the memories are right there. Her mom had convinced her dad not to come forward—not even allowing Clarke out of her room for a week until Abby had been sure that she wouldn’t say anything. She’d watched day in and day out the strain that it had put on her dad and on her parent’s marriage. 

Until the day that no one could keep it a secret or they would all die. And that’s where she’s headed now—to the culling. She remembers the way that her dad had cried as he begged her to change her mind, to not sacrifice herself for the Ark. He would go in her place. Her mom would get her name removed. He couldn’t lose her after making the choice to not come forward—he couldn’t live with himself.

_“Well, I can’t live with myself knowing that we could’ve told the people what was going on. I can’t live with the fact that the two of you could’ve saved lives and instead, 500 people will die because of you—myself included. So live with that.”_

Clarke winces. Those were the last words that this Clarke had said to her dad, which is more than she’d said to her mom. She hadn’t spoken to her mom since she’d been let out of her room over a year ago. 

She’d said those words to her dad a week ago and hadn’t gone back to their rooms since then, hiding out with Wells. And now it’s the day of the culling and she’s walking to her death. 

“Seriously, are you okay?” Bellamy asks, brow furrowed.

Clarke realizes she must have taken too long to respond. “Yeah.” She nods. She can’t believe that he’s here in front of her, so young. But that hair is awful—she’s so glad that hair gel wasn’t available on the ground because it is not a good look on him. “I guess I just got a little lost in my head.”

Bellamy nods, a sad smile gracing his lips. “Are you on your way to the culling?”

“Yeah.” She pauses. “You?”

He nods but doesn’t say anything, and grief floods through Clarke. She doesn’t want to be here—she doesn’t want to see Bellamy die again. She can’t do it. It’ll break her. 

“Do you want to walk together?” Bellamy’s voice is hesitant, something she isn’t used to from him. What happened to the cocky boy that shot the Chancellor and hopped on the dropship? 

“That would be nice.” They continue to walk down the hallway, content in their silence as they move with the crowd.

500 volunteers—or at least they’re being told that they’re volunteers, but Clarke can’t be sure. There are memories of suspicions of forcing people into the culling, conversations overheard in the Jahas’ rooms—but no definitive proof. It doesn’t matter now; there’s nothing that can be done. 

It’s decided. Today, they will die to give the others on the Ark six extra months of oxygen so that her dad can figure out how to save them all. She just hopes that he can—that they don’t end up like they had in her own universe. An unnecessary sacrifice. 

She wants to shout out that the ground is safe to inhabit, but she can’t know that for sure. With all of the universes that she’s visited, she’s seen how much can change from one different decision. It’s possible that this Earth isn’t inhabitable and she’d be sentencing them to death anyway. So she keeps her mouth shut. She keeps it in. 

She can’t believe she’s about to die. That Bellamy’s about to die. This is her hell.

“Can I ask why you volunteered?” Clarke asks quietly, turning her head slightly so she can see him.

Bellamy ducks his head before clearing his throat. “Ummm...I have a sister.” He glances at her to see her reaction, but she keeps her face blank. “My mom was floated and Octavia was sent to the Skybox. They said if I volunteered they’d release her—give her a chance at a normal life.”

“But how do you know that they’ll keep their word?” she asks because no matter what universe she knows she’d ask the question. 

“They already let her out.” He glances away and when he speaks his voice is laced with the tears that she knows he’s trying to keep from falling. “My room is her room now. They at least let us say goodbye. That’s got to count for something, right?” He turns back to her.

Clarke nods slowly. “Yeah, that was nice of them.”

“So what about you? Why did you volunteer?”

Clarke laughs, the sound short and bitter. “I guess since we’re about to die anyway there’s no harm in telling you. My dad is the head engineer. He knew there was a problem a year ago. He’s been trying to fix it but hasn’t been able to.” Her eyes lock onto his. “I’ve known for the last year, and they wouldn’t let me tell anyone. _They_ wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“So you’re doing it to punish them?” He doesn’t sound like he’s judging her, more like he’s curious. 

Clarke shrugs. “Maybe a little, but it’s also not fair. Why should I get to live when someone else could? Why shouldn’t they have to sacrifice something?” She shakes her head. “I’m sure it sounds petty to you—considering you’re giving your sister a life in exchange for yours.”

“Hey.” Bellamy grabs her arm and waits until she looks at him before he continues, “Does it really matter the reason you’re doing this? You’re giving all of these people another six months for your dad and the rest of the engineers to figure out what’s wrong. No matter _why_ you’re doing it, you’re doing it and that’s what’s important.”

Clarke blinks up at him. _This_ is the Bellamy she knows. The Bellamy that always reminds her of what’s really important. Pain washes over her again as she realizes that he’ll never again tell her that in her universe. She swallows and nods, fighting against the tears that she can feel building. She looks away from him so that he won’t see as a single tear makes its way down her cheek.

But obviously, she’s not as stealthy as she thinks she is because Bellamy’s hand slides down her arm, taking her hand into his and squeezing lightly. “It’s okay to be scared.”

More tears spill down her cheeks and she knows that he’ll think it’s because she’s scared, but it’s not. She knows that even if this Clarke dies, she won’t. But Bellamy will still die and here he is comforting a perfect stranger moments before he’s sacrificing his own life. How had things gotten so far off track in their own universe that she’d shot him? It doesn’t make any sense. 

Eventually, she nods. “Thank you.” She goes to pull her hand back, but he stops her.

He entwines their fingers as they start walking down the hallway once more. She must shoot him a look because he laughs. “You’re not the only one who could use a little support.” He pauses. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Clarke shakes her head even though it’s breaking her heart. How can she tell a man who is about to die that he can’t hold her hand? Especially since he could never understand the reason behind it. “Not at all.”

So they make their way down the hallway, hand in hand without speaking. Clarke can only imagine what he might be thinking—what he might be feeling. They come to a stop behind the crowd of people, others filling in behind them.

“We want to thank each and every one of you for the sacrifice that you make today,” Chancellor Jaha says from somewhere near the front of the crowd. “Because of you, the people of the Ark will stand a chance to live on. Thank you.”

The crowd begins to slowly move forward and as people move Clarke gets pushed closer to Bellamy. She keeps her eyes trained ahead of her, afraid of giving away too much of what she’s feeling. Once they reach the front of the line, the Chancellor and the Council members are thanking each person as they go by.

“Clarke,” her mom calls out.

Clarke shakes her head, dodging away from her and the other council members. Bellamy doesn’t let go of her hand and they duck into the room without receiving their thanks which honestly, Clarke doesn’t want and she knows that this Clarke wouldn’t want them either. It’s bullshit.

Clarke leads Bellamy over to an area where there’s enough room for them to sit. As soon as her back hits the wall she slides down it, Bellamy following her example. Once seated she pulls her knees up to her chest, holding onto Bellamy’s hand the entire time. Around them, some people talk, but most are silent and somber.

“Do you think it will hurt?” Bellamy asks quietly.

Clarke turns to meet his eyes and the look on his face, scared and looking so young brings tears to her eyes once more. She shakes her head. “It won’t. They’ll shut the door and then they’ll turn the fan off. We’ll pass out and then we’ll just be gone.”

Bellamy nods slowly. “Well, that’s good I guess.”

“Yeah,” Clarke’s voice cracks as the tears fall once more. How can she watch him die again? Why does she have to watch him die? 

Bellamy’s free hand comes up to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping away her tears. “I’m glad you fell.”

Clarke laughs so hard she snorts. It’s just so unexpected that she can’t stop herself. “I’m glad I could bring joy to your life, I guess?”

“No,” Bellamy laughs. “I’m glad you fell because then I helped you up and now I’m not alone.” He pauses, his voice softening. “I was afraid of being alone. I’m glad I’m not.”

“Me too.” She nods, squeezing his hand. She’s never going to stop crying. Her heart is breaking—for herself, for these people that don’t need to die, and most of all for Bellamy. The boy with the biggest heart, who is scared to die alone. 

“I’m Bellamy by the way.” A tear slips down Bellamy’s cheek but neither of them acknowledges it. “We should probably know each other’s name if we’re going to hold hands while we die, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we probably should. I’m Clarke.”

Bellamy nods slowly. “I figured. Who was that? The woman that called after you?”

“My mom.” Clarke shakes her head. “I haven’t spoken to her in a year.”

“You didn’t want to say goodbye?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke laughs. “No, I didn’t. She doesn’t deserve a goodbye.” She looks up as the door is shut, taking a deep breath before turning back to Bellamy. “It won’t be long now. Anything you’d like to say or do before you can’t?”

Bellamy looks at her for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I think there is.” He leans in, brushing his lips over hers. It lasts only a second but sends Clarke’s heart soaring. 

Clarke smiles, because how can she not? “You know, I think you’re onto something.” She leans in and kisses him again, this one lasting just a little bit longer but not by much. When she pulls back, eyes opening she finds Bellamy grinning at her.

“What a crappy time to meet someone, huh? When we’re both about to die?” He shakes his head. “The Fates probably think it’s funny.”

Clarke bites her lip, trying to fight the tears and knowing it’s a losing battle. “You know what? Maybe there’s a world out there somewhere where we’ve already met. Maybe we hated each other. Maybe another one where we met and fell madly in love. Another where we never meet. I bet there’s even one where we get married and have kids.”

Bellamy smiles. “That’s a nice thought. Do you really think that could be a possibility?”

“Absolutely.” She can’t tell him how she knows, but she does know. There are infinite universes—more than she’ll see, she’s sure. This universe can’t offer him a happy ending, but at least there’s another one out there that can. Even if it’s one where he doesn’t know her. 

Her eyes fall shut as she hears the fan cut off. They only have a few minutes left and then she’ll be gone and this Bellamy will be gone forever. She opens her eyes to see him just watching her. “You’re a good person, Bellamy.”

“And how would you know that? You’ve known me all of what? Twenty minutes at most?” Bellamy laughs, but it’s watery from his tears.

“How could you be anything but?” she questions him. “You’re giving up your life so that your sister has a chance to experience something she’s never experienced before—a chance at a real life, accepted and not hidden. You helped up a random stranger that fell. Held her hand. Kept her semi-calm. Only a good person would do that.”

Bellamy nods. “You’re a good person too.” 

“I’m really not,” she says as a sob escapes her. She didn’t mean for it to. She meant to stay strong for him because she’ll be alive and he’ll be gone. But she can’t. She can already see the way that his eyelids are drooping and she can feel her body beginning to fade. 

She’s not ready—but when is she ever? Bellamy drops her hand to wrap his arm around her and she lets her head drop to his chest. She cries as quietly as she can, not that it matters because she hears others crying as well—but what right does she have to cry? What right does she have to even be here? 

“It’s okay,” Bellamy says as he runs a hand over her hair and this is even worse. 

He’s comforting her when she should be comforting him. Why is this world so cruel? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why does Bellamy have to die?

_Why does Bellamy have to die again?_

Clarke knows it’s time—not just to leave this universe, but the oxygen is almost gone. They’ll all be gone soon. She fights against her body to look up at Bellamy whose eyes have fallen shut. 

“May we meet again.”

Bellamy looks like he’s trying to say something, but he can’t. His mouth moves slightly, his eyes move but he can’t. He can’t do anything because he’s dying—these are his last moments in this world. Clarke wants to hug him, to tell him that it’ll all be okay, but she can’t. Her body won’t move and she can barely keep her eyes open. She’s not even crying anymore. 

It’s over. 

She feels light-headed, but it’s not because of the lack of oxygen. This is different—this she recognizes. She’s being pulled from this universe and back into the anomaly. 

_No._

She fights it. She can’t go back. She doesn’t want to go back. This is what she deserves. She deserves to die. She wants to stay here and die in Bellamy’s arms. If he has to die then she should die too. 

Then she’s falling into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re not crying, you’re crying! Okay, we’re all probably crying. We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Miranda on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/sparklyfairymira/), [Tumblr](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sparklyfairymi1), Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stealjasonsjob) and Brooke on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/broashwhat/) & [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/broashwhat)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you on Thursday for a new chapter!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not fair,” she croaks out, leaning against a cold metal beam for support as emotion floods her system. 
> 
> “No, it’s not.” 
> 
> *** 
> 
> The last universe was a stark reminder that sometimes there isn't a happy ending, but this time the anomaly shows her that sometimes there is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15 for your reading pleasure! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Sam.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/pseuds/burninghoneyatdusk) The italicized memories are actually excerpts from Sam's already published one-shot [In The Moment We're Lost And Found.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051169)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Jo.](https://bookwormforalways.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Sam & Madison are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

“What the actual fuck?!” Clarke yells the moment she opens her eyes back in her own universe. That was awful, her meeting Bellamy—caring, protective Bellamy—literal moments before they both sacrifice themselves to die? 

This time it’s Bellamy’s eyes that are looking back at her, and they are unmoved by her anger. 

“You literally asked me to show you my least favorite memory. Then I tried to convince you otherwise. And then you insisted. You don’t get to be pissed, not this time.” His arms are crossed over his chest, biceps straining against the blue henley anomaly Bellamy continues to wear (Clarke swears as an extra way to torture her). His eyebrows are raised in challenge, daring her to fight him on this. 

But she just deflates. He’s unfortunately not wrong. 

“It’s not fair,” she croaks out, leaning against a cold metal beam for support as emotion floods her system. 

“No, it’s not.” 

“We’d only just met.” 

“Yes, you had.” 

“And we could have—” 

He cuts her off before she can continue. “You could have lived to see another round of deaths in a few months. And another round a few months after that. And another after that. Until the only choice is to sacrifice everyone who’s left, or take a chance on the ground. But by then, there’s only enough people for one station, and that station combusts on its way through the layers of Earth’s atmosphere.” 

His voice is cold, a jagged edge to it that she hasn’t heard since she first met her soulmate’s anomaly doppelganger. “Sometimes, there isn’t a happy ending.” 

This isn’t news to her—it’s something she’s known for a long time. Any grandiose illusions of happy endings disappeared the day she was thrown into lockup on a dying Ark after watching her father be floated for daring to believe in humanity. 

But it hurts all the same, that there other are universes out there that meet an ill-fated end. 

Bellamy’s features soften the longer he looks at her, and he eventually walks closer to hold out his hand. She takes it, and he leads her down another hallway. 

They end up standing in front of a sketch of two hands she’d recognize anywhere. Bellamy’s is darker and larger, intertwined with her smaller and lighter hand resting over a bump—her bump. 

“But sometimes,” he says, taking her hand to rest on the sketch, “there are happy endings.” 

* * *

As soon as Clarke opens her eyes, she’s forced to squint. She blinks them a few times before they adjust to the bright rays of sunshine. It’s the first thing Clarke notices—how the sun is low on the horizon, the sky on the brink of dusk. The second thing she notices is that she’s back on Earth, which makes her sigh in relief. The memory of Bellamy and her on the Ark, his hand in hers as the air ran out, feels as suffocating as their last moments together. She can breathe again here, even if it isn’t truly her air to breathe. Taking a deep breath, she savors it. 

The third thing Clarke realizes is that her stomach is large and swollen. She’s been pregnant before, in the other realities, but it still hits her anew every time—how there can be life growing inside her after everything that she’s done, after everything that’s happened. As if on cue, she feels the baby flutter inside of her. Swallowing thickly, she pushes past the bittersweetness of it and takes her first step forward. 

Clarke takes in her surroundings as she slowly walks through a meadow, both eager and anxious about what this version of reality might entail, about the life that this Clarke gets to live. The meadow itself is familiar, Clarke having spent countless hours with Madi in the fields of purple flowers in her own reality. The shape of the mountains ahead of it is a dead giveaway and is why Clarke knows with certainty where she is. The view looks different than it did when it was only Madi and her living here. In the valley below, there are countless buildings and cabins. A section that used to be part of the forest has been plowed and now looks like a garden, as far as she can tell from this distance away from it. She’s holding a sketchbook, which explains what she’s doing in the meadow alone. That activity is another thing that hasn’t changed since the last time she was here. 

As she runs a hand through the wildflowers, her first memory comes back to her. In the memory, she and Bellamy are sitting in the same meadow, except this time, the sky is dark and speckled with bright stars. 

_“Do you think if we hadn’t come down to the ground, we would have ever known each other? Become friends?” she asked him._

_“No,” he answered. “I don’t.”_

_Clarke’s eyes raked over him, taking in his frame. The way she could see his chest rising and falling, even with only the moonlight illuminating them. “I guess I’m kind of lucky then, in spite of everything. I can’t imagine a life without you in it.”_

_“Clarke,” he started, turning to face her. He seemed to startle when he found her already looking back at him._

_“Yeah?” she murmured._

_She heard him swallow thickly before continuing. “I don’t think I’ve been such a coward since that night_ — _since the night with Dax_ — _until these last months.”_

_Clarke furrowed her brow at that. “Well, I don’t think much bravery is needed in times like these. We should take advantage of it.”_

_Bellamy sat up quickly, shaking his head in frustration. He gazed ahead, arms wrapped around his knees. Clarke sat up too, scooching closer to him and bumping her shoulder with his._

_“What’s wrong?” she whispered._

_“What’s wrong is that it’s been months since I’ve run out of excuses for why I shouldn’t tell you how I feel, and yet, I haven’t been able to bring myself to.”_

_Clarke held her breath at his words._

_“Bellamy,” she prompted, her voice weak. He finally turned to face her and she wished it weren’t so dark, so that she could read what his eyes held._

_Clarke waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He only stared back at her. Unconsciously, she leaned closer, gravitating towards him on instinct. A second that held an eternity passed before Bellamy closed the distance, pressing his lips to hers with a sigh—as if he was giving up on something._

Clarke’s face flushes at the memory and she runs a hand over her stomach again before continuing her walk down to the village, feeling even more eager to meet this version of Bellamy. She has a pretty good idea of who the father of her baby is now, but she isn’t so naive as to assume things worked out perfectly for them here either. 

Clarke’s body hums with anticipation as she approaches the village. Memories less vivid than the one of Bellamy and her come rushing back to her as she enters the village. The well in the center of town was Kane’s idea—Kane, who is still gone in this world. Most of her own memories are the same as this Clarke’s—but something happened after Bellamy saved her from her mindspace. They used the anomaly but...they made it back to Earth instead, not Bardo or Skyring. 

“Clarke, are you coming?”

Clarke spins around, her thoughts interrupted by Madi jogging to catch up to her. She pulls the girl into a tight hug when she reaches her. It’s a little awkward given her protruding stomach, but she refuses to pass up any opportunity to hug her daughter. Clarke revels in the simple sight of her—young, happy, carefree. Everything she wanted for her, everything she deserved, and nothing she was awarded in their own grim reality. 

“Are you alright?” Madi asks, giving her a suspicious look. “I just saw you at lunch.”

“Yeah,” Clarke laughs, forcing her voice to steady. “Do I need an excuse to hug you?”

Madi laughs, shrugging. “I guess not. Are you coming to dinner though? Bellamy told me to make sure you eat something.”

Right...Bellamy is on a hunting trip today, she remembers. 

“Is he not back yet?” she adds, trying not to sound too desperate. She doesn’t want to miss him before she has to leave again.

“No, their party is still out. He said they were traveling further today, remember?” Madi asks, giving her a concerned look.

“Pregnancy brain,” Clarke tells her. 

Clarke and Madi go to a large dining pavilion near the well at the center of the village. After they fill their plates with a mix of meat and fresh vegetables, they take seats around a large fire at the center of several cabins. There are many fire pits like this, each with its own section of houses. The two-bedroom cabin she and Bellamy live in with Madi is directly behind her...he had put in the addition to the cabin after they got together, she remembers now. 

As the sky darkens, some of their friends join them—Raven, Gaia, Niylah, Murphy, and Emori. Echo and Miller must be hunting with Bellamy. Everyone chats easily and although Clarke enjoys their company, all the same, she grows more nervous that she might not get the chance to see Bellamy. 

Her gaze drifts to the fire, and as she stares at the bright orange flames, a more distinct memory washes over her. 

_Clarke wrapped her cardigan tighter to her body as she left the warmth of her cabin and took a seat in front of the fire. It was late and no one else was around, the fire burning low, but Clarke couldn’t sleep. Sitting cross-legged on the bench, she pulled out her sketchbook and began to draw, reveling in the sound of the crackling fire and the sight of the stars above her._

_Clarke was so focused, she didn’t hear him approach her._

_“What are you drawing?” Bellamy asked, standing a few feet from her with his hands in his pockets._

_Clarke startled, looking up at him. He laughed softly at her surprise as he sat down next to her._

_“Hi,” she said quietly, offering her own smile in return._

_“So?” Bellamy prompted._

_Clarke had half a mind to lie, to save herself from embarrassment, but she suddenly felt too tired to waste energy on such things._

_“You,” she answered warily. She snuck a glance at him, trying to read his reaction._

_He seemed surprised by the answer. “Oh?”_

_Clarke laughed lightly. “I don’t know why, I was just thinking, and-” she cut herself off, passing him the sketchbook. “Do you recognize it?”_

_She wasn’t sure if she hoped he did or didn’t recognize her drawing. His eyes swept over the page and Clarke watched every movement of his face carefully, the orange firelight illuminating it. Some unidentifiable emotion passed across it like a shadow._

_“It’s the night_ — _it’s after Dax,” Bellamy answered finally, looking at her curiously as he passed the sketchbook back to her. His tone held no uncertainty. “That was a terrible night.”_

_“Yeah, it was,” Clarke agreed. “There were a lot of terrible nights,” she mused. “But that night...I don’t know. I guess it was the first time I felt like I really saw you, or really knew you. The first time I didn’t feel alone down here.”_

_Bellamy shook his head, as if in disbelief. “You were never alone, Clarke. You had Wells and Finn, Jasper and Monty-”_

_“It’s not the same,” she cut him off. “I felt...I felt like I was alone in trying to keep people safe. Like everything was up to me. Even though we had agreed to make decisions together before that day, that was the first night I was certain I could trust you.”_

_Bellamy raised his brow at that. “You felt like you could trust me, on the day you found out I was planning to leave? I was a coward that night, Clarke.” There wasn’t any self-pity in his voice. He said it as if he was simply stating the sky is blue._

_“You didn’t leave,” she argued. “You stayed.” She wondered how they could remember that night so differently._

_He was quiet for a beat. “For you.”_

_“For Octavia, for all of us,” Clarke agreed._

_“No,” he retorted, his voice wrapped in something strange. “For you,” he repeated, with more conviction. “I_ — _I almost asked you to run.”_

_Clarke held her breath at the revelation, her heart pounding erratically._

_“I was going to ask you to come with me,” Bellamy repeated, as if she didn’t understand him the first time. “But you made me want to be brave. You made me want to face things. That’s what you do, what you’ve always done, Clarke. You make me better.”_

_Clarke shook her head at that, breaking herself free from the strange trance his words locked her in. “You were good all on your own, Bellamy. You’re telling me that our friends would have survived six years in space without you?”_

_Bellamy said nothing, turning away from her heavy gaze to face the fire instead._

_“No,” Clarke continued. “You did that. Only you could have done that.”_

_Bellamy drummed his fingers on his thigh before finally turning to face her again. “Do you want to go for a walk?”_

It was the same night, she realizes, her memories coming back to her more quickly now. It was the same night as the meadow...it was the night everything changed. 

“You okay?” Madi asks, bumping her shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Just tired,” she answers, forcing a smile. “What are you up to tonight?”

“A bunch of us are hanging out at the pavilion...unless you want company?”

Clarke quickly shakes her head. As much as she would love more time with Madi, it makes her happy to see her happy—young and carefree, living a normal life.

“I’m going to bed early anyway, you should have fun.”

Madi’s smile widens. “I will.”

Clarke excuses herself shortly after Madi leaves. She lights the fire and a few candles upon entering the cabin, looking around the small home that they’ve carved for themselves here. There is a half-finished crib in the corner of the room that fills her eyes with tears. She quickly blinks them away, walking over to Madi’s room instead. 

Despite knowing the girl won’t be in there, she opens the door and peers inside. It makes her happy all the same, to see that her daughter has her own room, her own bed. To know that she sleeps safely and happily every night, just as they did for their first six years together, is a gift in itself. Except it’s even better this time. This time, they’re surrounded by family and friends. She swallows thickly, walking over to the room Bellamy and her share.

It’s plain and technically nothing special, but it’s theirs, and that seems like a small miracle in itself. Leaning against the open doorway and staring at their bed, she remembers their first night together. The same night that they sat by the fire, the same night that he kissed her in the meadow for the first time.

_His hands gripped her waist, thumbs stroking her soft stomach as he stared down at her._

_“What?” she questioned, biting down on her bottom lip to try to control the ridiculous smile she felt fighting its way to the surface._

_Bellamy made no effort to hold in his own smile and she could see the white of his teeth in the dark. He shook his head a little, like he couldn’t believe his reality._

_“You’re so beautiful,” he said finally. “I have lived on Earth, and in space, and seen other planets, and nothing compares to this, to you.”_

_“You’re so cheesy,” she scolded him, but her smile contradicted her tone. “Would you come back here?”_

_Bellamy quickly leaned down again to kiss her again. She closed her eyes, unable to stop herself from moaning into his mouth as she arched her body closer to his._

_“Are you okay?” he whispered when he was finally inside of her._

_Her heart swelled. Bellamy. It was so Bellamy._

_Clarke nodded, unable to form words, and wrapped her legs tighter around him. He understood her plea, his own face strained from holding back as he began to move. Her body tightened with every snap of his hips and his face moved to the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he panted with each thrust. His hands never stopped exploring her, moving up her thighs and waist to across her breasts and under her, soothing her back as he pressed her closer against him._

_This is what it’s supposed to be like._

_It was the only coherent thought Clarke’s mind could form. Because it had never been like that, not for her. So beautiful, so relentless and delicious, so safe yet so tremendous. They didn’t say anything as he continued to slide in and out of her, his pace quickening. Their bodies moving against each other was the only language they needed._

_I love you, he said with the press of his fingers into her skin._

_I love you, she said by pressing her lips against his cheek. It was barely a kiss, just another way to touch him. To bring him closer to her._

_Bellamy followed her own release immediately, dropping his face to the crook of her neck and panting as he tried to catch his breath._

_She lightly trailed her fingers across his freckled back as she came down from her own high, feeling like she was floating on a cloud. She wasn’t sure she had ever felt so satisfied, so content, so happy and safe._

_Later that night, she rested her head against his bare chest, absentmindedly drumming her fingers against his chest. “So...that happened.”_

_Clarke felt the rumble of Bellamy’s responding laugh against her cheek. She shifted so that she could look up at him, head still resting on his chest._

_“So it did,” he replied, smiling widely. His expression was nearly giddy._

_She kept staring up at him, their silence comfortable as he combed his fingers through her blonde waves. The feeling was so soothing that she couldn’t help but close her eyes._

_“Clarke.”_

_She hummed in response, but didn’t open her eyes._

_“Clarke,” he tried again. She forced her eyes open, finding Bellamy looking down at her with a teasing smile._

_“Yes?” she asked, turning her head to press a single kiss to his chest._

_He took one of her hands, interlacing his fingers with hers, the pads of them slowly grazing her hand as he did. “I love you,” he told her, the teasing completely gone from his tone._

_Clarke’s heart lurched at his words and she sat up enough to press a slow kiss to his lips, all the while keeping their fingers interlaced. She pulled away, but only by a few inches. His smile was nearly boyish, reminding her of the man who landed on Earth with her seven years ago._

_“And I love you,” she told him, using her free hand to run her fingers through his thick waves._

_Kissing him once more, she settled back down with her cheek against his chest and he resumed running his fingers through her hair._

“Clarke?”

So lost in her memories, she hadn’t heard the door open. Spinning around, she finds Bellamy closing the front door, covered in sweat and grime from the day. Her heart leaps and she rushes forward, wrapping him in as tight a hug as she can manage with her stomach between them. 

“Hey,” he chuckles, pulling away. “Are you alright?”

Clarke nods, swallowing thickly. “Just missed you,” she tells him, running a hand through his hair. 

She can’t act like this in every reality she visits. Sometimes she doesn’t meet Bellamy at all, and sometimes he doesn’t know her like she knows him. This Bellamy, though, is so close to her own Bellamy. Her Bellamy, who helped her carry the weight of the world over and over again. Her Bellamy, who is gone because of her. 

Clarke kisses him abruptly, although the kiss itself is slow. She savors the feel of his lips brushing against hers. His hand moves over her stomach and she wonders if he too is savoring the moment. He might not be afraid of this life being taken from him in an instant, but Bellamy still knows the fragility of life and peace as well as she does. 

It makes Clarke feel like a thief, stealing pieces of this Clarke’s memories for herself. Memories she has no right to, memories she doesn’t deserve after what she did. She takes them anyway. Bellamy pulls away first, but he cups her face in his large hand as he looks down into her eyes. 

“You sure you’re okay?”

Clarke nods, forcing a smile. “Go bathe,” she laughs, hoping it doesn’t sound stilted. 

“Okay,” he chuckles. “I’ll be out soon.”

Clarke returns to their room, finally shrugging off her jacket and taking off her boots. She climbs onto their bed, running a hand over her bump, wondering how much time she has left. It can’t be much, she knows. She takes the moment of silence to sift through this Clarke’s memories, smiling at them as they sink in. Madi and her moving into the cabin Bellamy built them, before he was even hers. Clarke telling Bellamy she’s pregnant. They’re happy here, so happy, and the jealousy she feels for this Clarke is sharp and ruthless. She wishes she knew the exact choices that led her astray from this future, the exact moment that she unknowingly took this life from the both of them. It’s no use though—even if she could determine it, she can’t go back and change it. That much she understands.

Bellamy returns to their room with damp hair, wearing only a pair of linen pants. He sighs as he lays down next to her, clearly exhausted from the day. Rolling on his side, he pulls her shirt up and rests his hand on the bare skin of her stomach. Her eyes flutter closed at the sensation, her heart in her throat as she realizes a familiar lightheadedness has returned. She forces her eyes back open, needing to see him one last time. 

“Bellamy?”

He hums in response, shifting even closer to her. 

“You’re happy, right?”

He seems confused by the question. “Of course I am. You know I am.”

Clarke smiles as the world around her begins to darken, as she begins to fall under. She closes her eyes, unable to watch him as he slips away from her, but feels his lips press against hers at the last moment. His lips on hers is the last sensation she experiences before the world goes black. His lips are the last piece of this Earth she can savor before it slips through her fingers and fades away, dissolving into nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’re just so happy. We really just want them to be happy, right? We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Sam on [Tumblr](https://burninghoneyatdusk.tumblr.com/), Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stealjasonsjob) and Jo on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/bookworm4alwayz)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you on Sunday for a new chapter!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then why did you pull the trigger?” 
> 
> She inhales sharply at the question. It is an innocent one, and she knows he’s asking because he’s genuinely curious. But he’s wearing Bellamy’s face and speaking with his voice and looking at her with his eyes, and it’s suddenly her worst nightmare—the man she loved asking her why she killed him. 
> 
> The worst part is she doesn’t have an answer. 
> 
> *
> 
> Clarke finds herself in a universe at the start of something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16 is here! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter & intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Carrie.](https://carrieeve.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Madison & Carrie are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

The ache is back in her chest when she comes back to herself. That universe was a happy ending, a perfect ending. But it was also unbearably close to her own. She kept trying to pinpoint where she went wrong in her own lifetime, a futile but tempting exercise all the same. 

All over again, it hits her that she’ll never feel his hands on her skin or his hair between her fingers. She’ll never hear his laugh fill a room, that rare and beautiful sound she used to wish she could bottle. She’ll never get to tell him how much she loves him, and he’ll never get to tell her. They’ll never hold their baby in their arms, Clarke singing a lullaby or Bellamy reading from an old book. 

Happy endings exist—she’s witnessed them firsthand. But the chance for hers is gone. And even though she’s come to accept that, that pit still sits heavy on her chest every time she’s forced to think about it. 

She leans against the nearest wall, leaning her head back against the cool metal. She just needs a minute before she’s ready to keep going. 

“The universes where you and Bellamy are parents always seem to be distressing to you,” anomaly Bellamy muses, pulling her away from her own thoughts. She’s not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse. 

“It’s hard to see something I never knew I desperately wanted before, that now, will never be mine,” she explains with a defeated shrug. 

Bellamy looks at her curiously. “Why couldn’t that be yours?” 

She supposes he’s not entirely wrong. If she decides not to go through with transcendence, she could find someone else to be happy with. Someone to settle down with and fall in love with. In actuality, she only knew Bellamy for a handful of years—there’s the possibility she could find contentment with someone else. 

But deep down, she knows it wouldn’t be the same. The anma stones and these other realities, with all of their heartbreaks and triumphs and failures and happy moments, have proven that her soul is intertwined with Bellamy’s. And that future is ruined. 

She doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead, she just gives another shrug and hopes he doesn’t press her on it. 

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks, coming over lean against the wall next to her. 

“Sure.” 

“Anytime you have a particularly emotionally taxing reality, Bellamy is always the one you come back to in your mindspace. Why?” 

He seems genuinely curious, and she takes a second to think through the answer. 

“When I found out that the Ark was dying, it was like my entire world was ripped out from underneath me. And it wasn’t until I met Bellamy that I started to feel like I could stand on my own two feet again.” 

She searches for the right words in her head to describe the way Bellamy centered her. It was strange, how even fighting with him was somehow soothing to the deepest parts of her. In the midst of absolute chaos, she would still feel solid so long as he was standing there beside her. 

“He’s your somebody,” he says, somehow describing their relationship perfectly. She supposes the anomaly does have access to all of their lifetimes, so he would be most qualified to summarize it. 

“Yeah, he was.” 

“Then why did you pull the trigger?” 

She inhales sharply at the question. It is an innocent one, and she knows he’s asking because he’s genuinely curious. But he’s wearing Bellamy’s face and speaking with his voice and looking at her with his eyes, and it’s suddenly her worst nightmare—the man she loved asking her why she killed him. 

The worst part is she doesn’t have an answer. 

So instead she touches the wall behind her without looking at where she’s going. It’s a coward’s move, to run away. But she can’t bear having to explain to him that she doesn’t know why she shot her best friend and the love of her life, not anymore. 

And so she lets the darkness take her again. 

* * *

Clarke opens her eyes to the glow of neon lights and music. She’s at a bar, an old Earth bar. And she instinctively knows the place is called “Grounders,” which means she must be a frequent customer in this timeline. 

Well, she certainly won’t argue with a strong drink after that conversation with anomaly Bellamy. She looks around for the bartender, but they must be in the back or something since the place is pretty empty. Clarke drops her head to the countertop. Just her luck. 

“I don’t care how bad of a day you’ve had, that’s not a resting place I’d recommend,” a voice chuckles. Her head whips up, and she’s met with that head of dark curls and cocky grin she’d know anywhere. 

_ Bellamy.  _

The second she lays eyes on him, she’s hit with the memories from this life like a wave. Clarke comes here after stressful days at the hospital. Sometimes she picks up a stranger to take home, and other times she sticks to the bar alone until she can’t remember what she came to forget. But Bellamy is always there regardless, with sarcastic banter when she’s in the mood to argue, or a bottle of water when she’s six shots of whiskey deep in and needs someone to cut her off. 

In this life, she keeps him at arm’s length as best as she can. She keeps everyone at arm’s length. It’s easier that way. She’ll probably be gone in a year after her fellowship is over, and it’s not like her work schedule is conducive to getting close to anyone. 

So they are friendly and she’ll flirt on occasion when she’s feeling bold, but he stays at the periphery of her life. Close, but ultimately out of reach. It’s the story of Clarke’s life these days. Really, the story of her life always when it comes to Bellamy—these different universes continue to make that more and more apparent. 

“I spent my morning with my hands inside of a man’s bowel. I don’t think your bartop can get much worse than that,” she tosses back, falling into familiar banter. 

“Suit yourself, Princess.”  _ Princess.  _ He calls her that here, too. She doesn’t even know why—he’d given her a once-over the first time she sat down across from him and decided that would be her name. Clarke briefly wonders if maybe there was a part of him, a piece hidden away at the back of his subconscious, that knew that in another life she was destined to be his. 

He pours her another drink before walking to the other end of the bar to help another patron settle up their bill, and she takes a minute to study him. 

His hair is the same curly mess it always was in her own reality and he’s wearing a long-sleeved henley pushed up at the sleeves, not unlike the clothes he wore throughout most of their time on the ground. But there are differences, too. He smiles easier, and his jaw isn’t so tense. His hands aren’t constantly balled into fists as if ready to spring into a fight at any moment. 

This life has been kinder to him than hers, and she smiles to herself at the realization. It’s a good thing. He deserves to live a life that isn’t centered around a fight to survive until the next morning, a life where his smile isn’t tinged with self-loathing at his past choices or worry for tomorrow. 

_ He deserves a life without her.  _

And that sobering thought doesn’t just come from herself. No, that is a thought this Clarke has had many times over while sitting at this very barstool. This Clarke’s life is complicated and her mind is a muddled mess, and this Bellamy—like all the others—is kind and smart and has an amazing sense of humor and an intoxicating laugh and he deserves so much more than the hurricane that is Clarke Griffin. 

She straightens, starting to push away from the bar. She should leave, should go back to her apartment and drink the whiskey in her freezer rather than the drinks Bellamy pours her. But then he’s walking back toward her with a question in his eyes, and she’s frozen to her seat. 

“Don’t tell me you’re heading out already? There’s still two hours until closing, and I was counting on harrowing ER stories to keep me company,” he smirks. 

“Of course not,” she smiles as he pulls a stool out from his side of the bar to sit across from her. 

“Okay, so tell me the wildest thing that happened to you today.” His facial expression is teasing and his body language is relaxed, and Clarke can’t help but mirror his demeanor. 

She jumps into a retelling of a patient who came into the OR with a bowel blockage after swallowing 10 marbles while drunk as part of a bet. And Bellamy sits there enraptured the entire time, asking questions and poking fun at the guy who was dumb enough to do it.

Then he tells her about the woman who stormed into the bar early this morning looking for the “whore named Bellamy” that her husband said he stayed out late talking to—she’d assumed Bellamy was a woman her husband was cheating on her with rather than the guy who owned the bar. 

And the longer she talks and the more she drinks, the less she thinks about the woman who died on her table this afternoon or her fiancé who slapped Clarke when she told her she did everything she could. The less she thinks about the question anomaly Bellamy asked her before she jumped into this universe. The less she thinks about anything other than how beautiful he looks when he tips his head back in a genuine laugh. 

By the time he closes up, it’s 2 am, she’s drunker than she can ever remember being in her own lifetime, and he doesn’t want her to walk home alone. 

“I’m fine, Bellamy. Really. My apartment is less than 10 blocks away, over near Sunset Park.” 

“A lot can happen in 10 blocks, Clarke,” he argues. 

“I can take care of myself.” She knows she sounds like a petulant child, but she can’t help it. Her and Bellamy alone in his car sounds like a bad idea, a dangerous one that this Clarke isn’t keen on. Not because she doesn’t feel safe, but because around him is really the only time she does feel safe. And that fact terrifies this Clarke more than it did even in her own reality. 

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he says, obviously frustrated at her stubbornness. “But I’d rather you not have to while walking home drunk at ass o’clock in the morning.” 

“Fine,” she huffs. 

“Fine.” 

Neither of them moves for a few seconds, standing off against each other with their arms crossed. But then Clarke loses her balance, and Bellamy rushes forward to help steady her. She’ll never admit this out loud, but he may have had a point about her walking in her current state of inebriation. 

He locks up behind them before wrapping a strong arm around her waist to help her to his car. When they get to it, Clarke can’t help but laugh in her drunk state at the irony. “Of course you would drive an old Rover.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyebrows are raised in amusement at her comment, and for a split second Clarke wants to tell him because her Bellamy would find it hysterical. But then she remembers that this Bellamy wouldn’t find it hysterical at all because he would have no idea what she’s talking about. 

“Nothing,” she mutters, moving past him to get in before he can press her further. 

They drive back to her place in silence aside from her giving him convoluted directions, and he helps her up the stairs to her apartment. She has trouble with the keys, so he helps unlock her door and ushers her inside. 

The second they are across the threshold, she’s kicking off her shoes and shedding her jacket onto the floor of her entryway without even bothering to turn on any lights. Bellamy walks off—to where Clarke isn’t sure—and she slumps onto the couch.  _ Ooh, that’s comfortable _ , she thinks to herself as she curls up against one of the soft pillows haphazardly thrown in the corner. 

Bellamy eventually comes back with a glass of water and a plate holding a grilled cheese, setting both down on the coffee table before helping her sit up. 

“Drink.” His voice leaves no room for argument, and she finds herself doing as he says. She takes measured sips, studying him once more over the rim of her glass. 

“Why are you taking care of me?” she asks, her tone almost accusatory. “We aren’t friends.” 

“No, no we aren’t,” he agrees, letting out a short chuckle. “But as the guy who cuts you off most weekends, I’m worried about you.” It’s an admission, one she wasn’t entirely sure he meant to make. But he meets her eyes unflinching. 

“Do you keep close tabs on all of your customers?” she challenges, a flirtatious smirk on her face. 

“I’m serious, Clarke.” The way he’s looking at her wipes the grin off her face, and she sighs. Damn him, for being so good at seeing through her in every lifetime. She’s never been able to hide from him—not in her reality or any she’s experienced since—and it’s infuriating. 

“Most of the people who come through the ER end up just fine. But then there are the people who don’t. And after a day when I have to feel someone’s heart beat for the last time and then look their fiance in the eye to tell them the person they love most in the world is never coming home, sometimes I just need to think about anything else.” 

It’s an admission she normally wouldn’t share, but something about the darkness and the alcohol in her system makes her want to tell him everything. 

He doesn’t prod further, which she’s partially grateful for. But he does take a moment to study her, and she can’t force herself to meet his eyes. He must give up after a while because he pushes a hand through his curls with a sigh, standing up. “Well, finish your water and eat your sandwich, and I’ll get out of your hair.” 

She takes a bite out of the sandwich, biting back a moan at how good it tastes. As she quickly scarfs the rest of it down, he walks over to her bookshelf. He looks over the spines on her shelves—mostly medical textbooks with a few one-off novels here and there, and a flash of disappointment crosses over his face. 

Clarke gets a little annoyed at that. Of course, this Bellamy would be a literature snob too. “Do not judge my bookshelf. I spend 60 hours a week in the ER; I don’t have time to read everything on the New York Times Bestseller list.” 

He just shakes his head, a small smirk on his face at her accusation. “I’m not judging your bookshelf.” 

“Then what are you doing?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s turned partially away from her, so she can’t make out his expression—especially in her dark apartment—but she’d bet anything that he’s biting his cheek while trying to figure out the right way to word whatever he’s about to say. 

“It’s just… your place isn’t very homey.” Clarke looks around her apartment, and he’s not wrong. The living room is well-decorated but minimalistic, and she doesn’t have any picture frames out or personal items strewn around the room. 

“I spend most of my time at the hospital,” she explains. “And in a year or so, I’ll probably end up taking a fellowship halfway around the country. So what’s the point in putting down roots here in the meantime?” 

Silence stretches between them again, Bellamy moving back to sit on the coffee table while Clarke finishes the rest of the water. For a long time, they both just sit there, staring at one another in the dark. 

She’s starting to sober up marginally, which means the alarm bells are going off in this Clarke’s head. He’s already gotten too close, already seen more of her tonight than she’s let anyone see in a long time. But she also can’t seem to ask him to leave, and he seems glued to his spot across from her. 

After what feels like an eternity, he sighs, breaking eye contact to run another hand through his hair. “Seems like a lonely existence,” he says so quietly she almost doesn’t hear it. 

“It’s easier this way, and I like being on my own,” she shrugs, a sad smile on her face. 

“Everyone should have somebody. You know, the person you call after a hard day when the walls are caving in and you just need to think about anything else.” 

“On those days, I go to your bar, order a few shots of whiskey, and find someone to take my mind off of things,” she counters, a little defensive. 

“I know this is ironic coming from a guy who owns a bar, but drowning the bad days with booze doesn’t actually help you deal with them,” he points out. It’s irritating because deep down this version of Clark recognizes he’s right. And Clarke knows better than anyone that trying to solve your problems alone hurts more than it helps. 

“Maybe not. But it’s the best I’ve got.”

“What about me?” Clarke doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just sits there silently staring at him trying to decipher his expression. It’s so open, with an easy vulnerability that she and her own Bellamy could never afford. And Clarke doesn’t know this Bellamy, but the way he’s watching her makes her fall just a little bit in love with him. 

“Let me be your somebody,” he says when she doesn’t respond. “On the nights when you just need someone to scream at or cry with or sit in silence to watch some stupid CW show about the last humans on Earth, call me instead of going to the bar.” 

“But what if you’re busy at the bar?” 

“Then I’ll call someone in to cover. Perks of being the boss,” he smirks, and she can’t help but mirror his expression. God, he makes it sound so easy. And maybe it is. But there’s that fear lodged in this Clarke’s chest, that voice in the back of her mind that is warning her that this is the beginning of something.

It’s strange, the warring emotions fighting for dominance inside of her. This Clarke is terrified of letting Bellamy in. At this point, she’s so sure that he’s going to wreck all of her carefully-laid plans, and she’ll end up breaking his heart. But then there’s a part of her, the Clarke not from this reality, that sees this for what it truly is: hope. 

She knows from experience just how terrifying it is to need Bellamy Blake, but she also now knows how absolutely amazing it is to be loved by him. And there’s not a doubt in her mind that this night is the start of their love story in this timeline. Maybe it’ll take years of friendship before either of them makes a move, or maybe he’ll lean in to kiss her goodnight before he leaves her apartment later. Either way, in the end, they are inevitable.

And it’s a bittersweet thing, for her to know with such certainty that things will work out for this Clarke and this Bellamy when she never had that in her own reality. But it doesn’t make it any less beautiful to experience. 

And as Clarke feels that familiar pull at the edges of her mind, she doesn’t fight it. Because for perhaps the first time she doesn’t need to see what comes next—she already knows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the beginning of something, isn’t that nice? We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stealjasonsjob) and Carrie on [IG.](https://www.instagram.com/panbiszkopt/)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you on Tuesday for a new chapter!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke jerks wide awake in Bellamy’s arms as she registers the voice.
> 
> Jasper.
> 
> Jasper’s alive.
> 
> *
> 
> Clarke gets to see what life might have been like in the bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s time for chapter 17! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Pris.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheWallflowers/pseuds/QueenoftheWallflowers)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Elle.](https://hopskipaway.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Pris, Madison & Elle are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

Bellamy is waiting for her when she comes back to her own mind, looking at her with an unimpressed expression on his face. Clarke opens her mouth to ask why he’s looking at her all judgy like that, but then she remembers. 

_ “He’s your somebody,” he says, somehow describing their relationship perfectly. She supposes the anomaly does have access to all of their lifetimes, so he would be most qualified to summarize it.  _

_ “Yeah, he was.”  _

_ “Then why did you pull the trigger?” _

She sighs, closing her eyes and running a hand down her face as she leans against the wall. 

“I don’t know why.” 

“I don’t believe you.” His voice isn’t accusatory, not in the way she knows her Bellamy would be if he were here. 

God, she can picture so clearly how angry,  _ how betrayed _ , he would be. Arms crossed, jaw tense, teeth clenched in anger that he’s trying like hell to hold back. His eyes would be narrowed and that line would pop up between them. He’d dare her to try and explain herself, and when she couldn’t give him a reason he’d spew venom about how he’s done nothing but protect her since that day they went to the depot while she’s done nothing but stab him in the back for his efforts. 

And she would take it, eyes filled with tears and lip trembling. Because he’d be right. 

But anomaly Bellamy isn’t angry. He’s looking at her as if he can see right through her, and there’s almost a level of sympathy in his eyes, his voice. Clarke thinks that might be worse than the anger. 

“I…” she trails off, unsure of what to say. 

She was trying to protect Madi? Well, she failed miserably at that. Hell, she didn’t even manage to grab the book she’d shot Bellamy over when she left—too shaken by the image of his body falling to the ground, that singular red dot growing over his heart. She was afraid for her life? That’s a lie. She’s never once felt truly afraid for her life with Bellamy. Not even in the early dropship days when he was playing camp bully to save his own skin. She thought he was too far gone? Maybe she thought that when he first betrayed her to Cadogan. But she recognized the old Bellamy in his eyes when they were fighting in her shared cell with Octavia—he wasn’t brainwashed like they’d originally guessed. 

And that left only one option—the truth. 

She slides down the wall into a sitting position. It’s a good thing this fake floor is clean—she spends more time down here than she does standing up, it seems. Anomaly Bellamy comes over and sits down next to her. For a while they just sat there, Clarke searching for the words that could explain why she made the biggest mistake of her life and Bellamy silently watching her. 

“I was so angry,” she says simply. “Angrier than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Here was a man I loved more than almost anyone in the world, and he was willing to risk the life of my child—to risk my life—at the drop of the hat for some egomaniac and his cult.” 

“You were hurt.” Clarke looks up at him then, pinpricks in her eyes as they well with tears. 

“Heartbroken,” she admits. “And he was standing there saying he would never let anything happen to Madi and promising it would all be worth it in the end. I was  _ so  _ convinced he was wrong. In that moment, pulling the trigger seemed like my only choice.” 

“Only choice,” anomaly Bellamy repeats. “That’s an oxymoron.” 

She remembers when she first said that to Bellamy, her Bellamy. And the tears she’s been trying to hold back start to fall. 

“People do crazy things when they are hurt and cornered. It’s instinct,” he explains. She shakes her head, not wanting him to help her rationalize her actions. There’s no excuse for her actions, no matter what she was feeling at the time. Bellamy deserved better. 

Standing up, she walks down the hallway to escape. Anomaly Bellamy trails after her, staying silent. She just needs to feel something other than the hurt. It’s like each universe gives her some peace and clarity, only for the Bellamy in her mindspace to wreck it all with one stupid question. 

“You can’t keep using these universes as an escape for coming to terms with your own reality, Clarke,” he calls after her. Logically, she knows he’s right. 

But then an image catches her eye, and she reaches out to touch it before anomaly Bellamy can stop her.  _ Watch me.  _

* * *

Clarke wakes up to lips on her neck and a hand squeezing her breast. She lets out a soft gasp as Bellamy whispers in her ear that she needs to be quiet.

The room is dark and the bed is narrow but she can hear the loud snores and soft mumblings of other people, she can see the faint outline of bunk beds.

There’s only one place that she can remember that has bunk beds.

She’s in the bunker.

But she doesn’t dwell on that too much because she’s distracted.

Behind her, Bellamy tugs on the strap of her tank top, pulling it down her shoulder with his teeth and his hand gently kneads her breast. 

Clarke feels like she should be worried, having sex with Bellamy in a room full of their sleeping friends doesn’t seem like a good idea and it feels risky but then his other hand slips under her underwear, slipping in between her legs, finding her clit, and she forgets about silly things like the fact that sex in front of others is bad—besides they are all asleep.

What’s the harm?

She turns her head to the side trying to reach his lips, as he picks up the pace, grinding his palm against her clit, and making her want to scream. He kisses her messily, his mouth swallowing her moans as she feels him add in a second finger and then later a third. As he thrusts them in and out, his fingers press against the spot that nearly has her seeing stars. 

She can feel herself near the edge when he pulls his fingers away and she lets out a low whine, pulling away to pant into her pillow and he laughs softly into her neck.

“You need to be quiet princess, don’t want them waking up to find you begging for my cock.”

Clarke huffs, impatient. She's learned to treasure people touching her, to treasure the different Bellamys loving her, something she won't ever get in her own lifetime.

Maybe it’s wrong, maybe it's fucked up to be enjoying the way they touch her—the way they fuck her, the way they love her whispering the declarations in her ear—considering that none of these Bellamy’s are hers. No, hers is dead, shot in the heart by her own hands.

She swallows back a sob as she is hit with a memory of this Clarke, pointing a gun at Bellamy, hands shaking, and the way Bellamy said firmly, "You won't shoot me."

The memory is familiar and it tastes bittersweet, she couldn't shoot him to save the last of the human race but she shot him over a silly sketchbook she left behind.

She closes her eyes as Bellamy lifts a leg over his hip, and slides into her with one smooth solid thrust and his hand is quick to cover her moan as he does so.

She pushes back against him as he thrusts into her slowly, leisurely as if they aren't in danger of being caught by everyone in the room. His hand is tight on her hip and Clarke wishes that when she leaves this universe that the marks Bellamy makes will stay on her skin—a reminder of what could have been.

He’s got his face buried in the back of her neck and she can feel the kisses he’s pressing to her skin in between the soft “I love you"s and “You feel so good.”

Clarke lets herself go—stops worrying about when she might leave and allows herself to simply enjoy the feel of Bellamy’s skin on hers, the feel of his dick sliding in and out of her, and how good it feels. She digs her nails into his arm covering her mouth and her other hand slips in between her legs to rub at her clit, to help Bellamy along.

If he wasn’t covering her mouth, she would probably be begging. 

She’s not sure how the bed isn’t shaking or how the blanket is staying around them but then Bellamy starts to pick up the pace and she moans into his hand. She feels his teeth in her shoulder, biting hard, and arches her back as they come together. She closes her eyes, panting as she feels him pull out of her carefully. She turns to face him and he smiles.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

His eyes are soft and the frown lines she is used to seeing on his face are non-existent. He tucks a strand of her hair away from her face as he leans in to press a soft kiss to her lips. When he pulls away her hands creep up to the scar above his lip, and he kisses the tips of her fingers.

“I love you.” 

She blinks back tears and he frowns, cupping her face.

“What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. How does she tell him that she wishes that her own Bellamy had said those words to her—that she said them back—that she wished that she hadn’t interrupted him to tell him to hurry.

“Sleep. I’ll be here.”

Bellamy runs a hand through her hair and it feels strange to have long hair again but also Bellamy’s hand is soothing and she soon finds herself drifting to sleep. 

It makes her a bit melancholy—this seems to be a good life. She and Bellamy are alive in the bunker, in love where they can have sex in their room and then cuddle. She wishes she could wake up in her Bellamy’s arms. 

She’s faintly aware of the door to the room opening and the sound of two sets of footsteps entering causing her to tense. But Bellamy is relaxed as he sleeps and she tells herself that no one in this universe is actively trying to kill her and she hopes that anyone that would try knows better than to attack her when Bellamy’s with her. 

They are whispering and Clarke hears a muffled thump.

“Shhhh, you’ll wake them up.”

Clarke jerks wide awake in Bellamy’s arms as she registers the voice.

_ Jasper. _

Jasper’s alive.

He’s in the bunker.

“Oh please, if they can sleep through my brother and Clarke hooking up then they can sleep through anything.” Octavia laughs as she hears Jasper snort in agreement, there is some rustling of sheets and then a soft sigh.

“Night Jas.”

“Night O.”

Clarke falls back into an uneasy sleep, her dreams a mixture of her own memories of Jasper—angry, hurt, dead—and this Jasper—alive, breathing, learning to live again.

_ “Bellamy?” _

_ Bellamy chokes back a sob. “They don’t want to come back. Clarke, they’d all rather die.” _

_ “Bellamy…” _

_ “Bree, Harper, Riley, Jasper—these kids, they’d rather die. Did we screw them up that badly?” _

_ Clarke has tears on her cheek. _

_ She thinks of a younger Jasper, smiling, laughing—before the ground, before she destroyed him.  _

_ “Marcus says we have to go. I- I don’t know if I can leave them” _

_ Clarke grips the radio, wishing she could be there with him, wishing she could wrap her arms around him, hold him as he cries, and remind him that these deaths are not on his shoulders. _

_ “Put me on with Jasper.” _

_ Clarke looks up, blue eyes wide as Octavia grabs the radio from her. _

_ “O.” _

_ “Put me on.” _

_ Octavia’s eyes are dark and her knuckles are white, pale as she clutches the radio. _

_ “Hell-lo,” Jasper’s voice is slurred and Clarke sinks into a chair. _

_ “You are not allowed to die. Do you hear me? You are not allowed to die on me, Jasper Jordan.” _

_ “Octavia.” _

_ “No, I told you when you got speared that I couldn’t lose you. That you are not allowed to die. “ _

_ “I can’t.” He sounds more awake, more alert, more aware of Octavia.  _

_ “No Jasper! You can’t leave me. I need you, okay? I need you. Please don’t leave me.”  _

_ Clarke has never heard Octavia sound like this before—she has never heard her sound so desperate, close to begging.  _

_ “I don’t want to spend five years underground.” _

_ “And you think I do? Jasper, I spent almost my entire life under the floor of our room—the last thing I want to do is go back under. I'm scared Jasper, I'm so scared to go back under. I'm scared that I'm destined to spend the rest of my life being the girl under the floor." She's crying and Clarke holds a hand to her mouth.  _

_ Jasper sounds like he is crying, his voice shaky as he responds. "I'm scared. The ground was supposed to be good. It was supposed to be safe, happy. And I'm tired of fighting, I'm tired of war, I'm tired..." _

_ Octavia’s voice is soft, a wistful look in her eyes. "I'm tired too, some days waking up is hard and some days I'm scared that all I know is anger. I've done some things that I regret, but I'm scared that one day I won't recognize who I am under all that anger. But we owe it to the people who didn't make it to the ground—you know, to our families, to the delinquents who didn't make it—to Fox, to Atom, to Maya, to Lincoln. We can't give up, no matter how tired we are." _

_ "I don't know what I'm more scared of—dying or living." _

_ Octavia’s lips quirk up for a second and she leans against the table, her shoulder relaxed. "I don't know which I’d prefer but I do know that there is no one else in this world, aside for my brother, that I would rather live or die next to than you.” _

_ Jasper laughs and Octavia gives her a look. Clarke nods, leaving her alone in the room. She leans against the wall, waiting and hoping that Octavia’s heart doesn’t break even more.  _

_ She hears a laugh and Clarke peeks around the door to see Octavia smiling, bright and happy as she turns off the radio. _

_ “He, Harper, and Monty are coming with Bell.” Octavia’s face shows nothing but utter relief and she looks younger than she has in a long time as she looks up at Clarke. “He wants to live.” _

_ The ‘with me’ goes unsaid but it's implied. _

_ Clarke doesn’t let herself think about the list or what will happen if they can’t let everyone in, or what might happen if more people than they can take care of are allowed in, as she lets the younger girl wrap her arms around her, sobbing into her shoulder in relief.  _

_ This is a victory.  _

_ “He’s coming here. He’s coming here.” _

_ Clarke runs a hand through Octavia’s long hair, she’s not used to this—Bellamy is better at comforting than she is but it’s the least she can do for his sister.  _

Clarke wakes to the sound of people talking, moving around. She groans and nuzzles her pillow, which chuckles.

“Bellamy! Clarke! You’re going to be late.”

Clarke’s eyes fly open and she finds herself looking at Bellamy who is giving her a soft smile. He leans in to give her a quick kiss but she finds herself chasing his lips as his hands slide down her back to her ass, grabbing the soft flesh.

“Oh my God, can you two wait until we leave the room?”

Clarke freezes in shock, forgetting that they are not alone. She buries her head into his chest as Bellamy throws something at his sister. “It’s my room.”

“Technically it’s  _ our _ room.” Clarke can practically hear Miller rolling his eyes as Bellamy groans, sitting up. She squeals, pulling the blankets back to her chest.

She can hear the others laughing as they leave the room and then Bellamy climbs out of bed. She watches him, admiring the way his muscles flex as he bends down to get dressed. 

She’s a bit surprised but happy that she is still here. Waking up in his arms—it feels like home, like safety but it’s also hell because it’s not something she will ever experience in her own life. This Bellamy, this life, belongs to another Clarke in another universe—one where Octavia convinced Jasper to come to the bunker, one where her friends are alive and making the best of their lives down here. One where this Clarke and Bellamy are happy, are able to wake up with their arms around each other every morning and have hot, quiet sex when everyone else is asleep. 

This is not her life but she wishes it was.

She sits up, catching the shirt that Bellamy throws at her face, and tugs it on.

How odd to think how one thing can change everything.

Jasper in the bunker—it’s made Octavia happier, lighter. He kept her from turning into Bloodreina, reminding her that some losses were too great, that some lines can’t be crossed. 

_ Octavia slumps onto the couch and runs a hand through her hair. _

_ “I can't let this go unpunished—there is already talk about me being unfit to lead.” _

_ “Octavia you are eighteen. You shouldn’t be leading in the first place.” _

_ “And how old were you and Clarke?” _

_ “It was either us lead or all of you die because you walked into poison ivy.” _

_ Octavia snorts and starts to pace, her long hair swinging as she walks. “God, what I wouldn't give for some poison ivy right now.” _

_ Jasper slips into the room, stopping Octavia mid-turn, his arm around her waist as he pulls her toward him. _

_ Clarke’s not sure what is going on between them but they are softer, more affectionate with each other. It reminds her of herself and Bellamy—the way they confide in each other, the way they support and talk with each other. _

_ Jasper has become Octavia’s second, her rock—the one she listens to the most and Clarke’s not even sure if either one of them realizes it. _

_ “What do I do Jasper?” She looks at him with a look that is so heartbreakingly familiar. _

_ “What about two weeks of solitary? No meeting with friends or family, no attending the movie nights, and he can eat alone. In a place like this we need contact with people, taking it away is a punishment.” _

_ It sounds a bit harsh but they don't want to kill anyone so Octavia nods and presses a kiss to Jasper’s cheek before she leaves the room.  _

“Ready to go?”

Clarke blinks and lets Bellamy pull her up. They walk to the mess hall hand in hand and it's nice, although a bit surreal. Clarke has a hard time picturing a life where she and Bellamy could do something as simple as walking down the hall hand in hand. But that life exists—in this life, she and Bellamy are in love, they are affectionate, and his touch is familiar but still sends sparks through her veins. 

During breakfast, Clarke sits back and watches them all, soaking them all in.

Her friends, her people.

Alive and happy, surviving as best as they can underground. 

Miller and Monty are laughing, shoulders pressed together while Harper rolls her eyes, baby Jordan on her lap, the three of them happy around the baby.

Murphy, Emori, and Raven are sitting across from her and Raven smiles at her. It hurts because a part of her keeps expecting to see the anger, the venom, in her eyes but this Raven loves her. The past four years have been enough for them to talk things out.

The biggest difference is, of course, Octavia and Jasper. Octavia’s hair is long but clean, her smile reaches her eyes—no trace of Bloodreina on her. She is dressed in light-colored clothing, her black cape and black makeup gone. The sign of Heda is not on her, it's safely stored away, hopefully, never to be used again. 

Jasper is next to her, their heads pressed together as they whisper quietly. Clarke’s not sure but she thinks they are holding hands under the table. He’s taller, grief no longer weighing him down the way it used to. His eyes are brighter when he looks at Octavia. 

Everyone else in the room: the grounders, the other Ark citizens—they all seem happier, lighter. She sees all the different clans, the ark citizens, her people, talking and laughing and it's hard to believe how far they have all come. They have gone from fighting to the death to breaking bread together.

She is proud but it also brings her sadness. This could have been her life—happy in the bunker with Bellamy but it wasn’t. Instead, she was left on the Earth to burn, and then she shot him in the heart, destroying her own heart in the process. 

Bellamy presses a kiss to her temple and her eyes flutter close, content. She hears his chair scrape back and a few others do as well as they prepare to leave for guard duties or in Bellamy’s case—class.

“I’ll see you later. Love you.”

What is it like, to live in a world where the words “I love you” are said so easily? 

Working in Medbay is familiar. It’s nice to have her mother alive, to be working side by side next to her. Her mother talks about what patients to expect- a few pregnant women, a sprained ankle, and some children. 

In between patients, she works on updating files, that’s when she stumbles on Bellamy’s.

Bruised wrists, stab wound to the knee that requires exercise, implant removal, dislocated shoulder- the list goes on and on and she feels a stab of guilt as she realizes how many of these can be connected to Bellamy trying to protect her. 

_ “I’m sorry Bellamy, I’m so sorry.” _

_ He refuses to look at her as she bandages his hand. _

_ “Please Bell, please.” _

_ She cups his face— a bold move but she needs him to look at her. There’s anger and hurt in his eyes but it's the disappointment that hits her to the core. _

_ “Bellamy, I’m sorry.” _

_ He jerks his face away from her hands and shakes his head. _

_ “I can’t, I don't think I can for-” _

_ Octavia and Jasper interrupt them and it's a good thing because Clarke’s heart is on the verge of shattering. _

_ Forgiveness has always been their thing. They have always forgiven each other.  _

_ “Sorry, big brother. But you are going to have to forgive Clarke sooner than expected—you two are sharing a bed.” _

_ Bellamy’s eyes widen in horror and Clarke would be offended if she wasn’t too busy panicking. “Why?” _

_ “Your options are Clarke or Miller—unless you’d rather Raven shares with Clarke.” _

_ Raven is still angry at Clarke and as angry and hurt at her as Bellamy is, Clarke can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t going to make her share a bed with Raven. _

_ He nods and leaves the room, and Octavia’s eyes land on Clarke. _

_ “Thank you for making sure he was on this side of the door when you closed it.” _

_ It’s not forgiveness but rather an understanding that they have a mutual interest in keeping Bellamy alive, even if it means the other dying.  _

_ Jasper squeezes Octavia’s shoulders, his eyes dark and solemn as they on Clarke before he swallows. _

_ “We have five years of surviving to do—as long as we don’t die, that is. Forgiveness will come eventually.” _

_ They leave and Clarke takes a deep shuddering breath as she places her hands on the bed and bends over sobbing in relief that everyone she loves is safe—but also in despair because they are all so angry with her and Bellamy may possibly never forgive her.  _

* * *

_ Silence fills the room when she enters it and Clarke has a hard time meeting anyone’s eyes. _

_ She sees Bellamy’s jacket hanging on one of the beds and he’s sitting on the bottom bunk. She kicks off her shoes and he clears his throat and she looks up at him. _

_ He gestures to the side closest to the wall, “That’s your side.” _

_ She swallows, as the coldness in his voice and the way he looks off to the side of her. She crawls under the covers and turns her back to him. He doesn't settle down right away, whispering to the others and she tries to will herself to sleep, forcing herself to control her breathing, so she doesn’t break down sobbing.  _

_ “Are you going to bed soon? It’s been a long day.” _

_ “Not tired yet.” _

_ “You were yawning earlier,” Miller points out and Clarke clutches the blankets even tighter, eyes squeezed shut. _

_ “Like I said, not tired yet. It’s all the adrenaline from today. A lot happened today.” _

_ “You know that no one is stupid enough to try to kill Clarke when she’s sharing a room, hell a bed with you.”  _

_ Of course, Bellamy is still trying to keep her alive even when he hates her.  _

_ “A lot of people are angry with her.” _

_ No one has an answer, a dispute for that and Clarke feels a few tears escape down her cheeks and she buries her head into her blanket, choking back a sob.  _

_ Bellamy is angry at her and he may not forgive her—this is what her next five years will look like.  _

_ She’s finally on the verge of sleep when she turns to face him, he’s sitting on the floor, gun in his hand, eyes on the door.  _

_ Protecting her.  _

_ She falls asleep like that, facing him, Bellamy being the last thing she sees as she falls asleep. _

Bellamy pulls her into an empty room and presses her against the wall, kissing her. But all Clarke can think about is that this is the room where Bellamy had once chained her up. 

She can hear herself begging Bellamy not to leave her.

Bellamy pulls away from her, his hands cupping her face and Clarke realizes that she’s crying.

“Hey, what's wrong?”

He looks at her so sweetly, brown eyes soft and warm, his thumb rubbing her cheekbone.

He’s warm and alive and he loves her.

She breaks.

She slides down the wall crying and Bellamy’s there pulling her onto his lap, rocking her gently as he runs a hand through her hair, whispering softly to her the story of Hades and Persephone. 

She cries for this Clarke, who will hopefully never experience a life where Bellamy leaves her behind, breaking her heart. She cries for herself because while this Bellamy is amazing and loving, he’s not her Bellamy.

This is all getting to her, all these universes, all these possibilities of where she and Bellamy could have been happy—where she is happy, where her friends are happy and alive.

It’s all so beautiful.

But it's not her reality.

Her reality is lonely with the one person who has always been by her side gone. 

If she had only talked to him, listened to him, had shot him in the arm or in the leg, or better yet, not shot him at all then he would be there with her and she wouldn't be in the bunker crying in another Bellamy’s arms, wishing things were different. 

Eventually, her tears subside but Bellamy keeps whispering and she nuzzles his neck, letting herself have this moment. Bellamy smells like home—like the forest, a hint of the soap that they use in here and something that she can only describe as him. 

He presses a kiss to her hair and she turns her head to kiss him, her hand reaching for his jaw. 

He gives her a quick peck on her nose and she feels a pang of jealousy that this Clarke lives a life where Bellamy kissing her nose is normal. 

“God, you are so beautiful. Look at you, Princess.”

He tugs her shirt off and makes good use of the time, sucking and kneading her breast, his mouth wrapped around one while his hand plays with the other. Clarke’s hand finds stability in his hair as she arches her back to give him better access, her hips grinding against him. 

He growls against her skin when his radio goes off and he pulls away. His hair is a mess with curls sticking out.

“Calling Bellamy and Clarke…we do have a bunker to run you know. Not everyone can spend their days sneaking off and making out.” 

Jasper sounds amused and Clarke is filled with joy at how happy he sounds and that their friendship consists of jokes like this. It feels like a balm to the hole in her heart but also a sharp reminder that her Jasper died hating her. 

Bellamy rolls his eyes, pressing one final loud smacking kiss to the space between her breasts before he turns to nuzzle them.

“I’m going to let Murphy sing if you aren’t here within the next five minutes.”

Clarke can tell that Octavia is trying to sound stern and is failing at hiding her amusement. She never thought she would hear the day that Octavia would say Murphy’s name so casually—she’s not even sure they spent any time together back in her lifetime. 

Bellamy laughs into the radio, one hand trailing up and down her spine. “Oh please, O. Like you and Jasper weren’t making out in your office before the meeting.”

_ Clarke laughs into his mouth as he presses her into the wall, his hands creeping under her shirt. _

_ “Office should be empty.” _

_ They take off giggling and once in the room he presses her against the wall again as he kisses her. He tugs on her shirt, about to pull it off her head when someone yells, “What the hell!” _

_ They turn to find Octavia and Jasper on the couch (the same couch that Clarke rode Bellamy on last night). The four of them look at each other, eyes wide. Jasper’s got his hand under Octavia's shirt. _

_ Clarke slides off the desk and drags Bellamy out of the room, Bellamy stumbles after her in shock. _

_ They curl up in their small bed together, his head tucked into her neck nuzzling her. _

_ “I’m happy for them…they deserve to be happy.” _

_ Clarke nods, combing his curls. “We all deserve to be happy and considering how desperately she wanted him to live, you can’t say this was a surprise.” _

_ “He brings out the light in her while still supporting her in the hard decisions she has to make.” _

_ “He keeps her steady.” _

_ Bellamy laughs. _

_ “What?” _

_ “Reminds me of something Jaha said to me. He told me that I keep you centered and I said that he had it backwards.” _

_ “I don’t know, he might be right. I don’t know what I would do without you.” _

_ His hand reaches to cup her cheek. “If I have it my way you will never have to find out.” _

_ “Never? What are you going to do, stay by my side forever?” _

_ “If you'll have me.” _

_ It sounds a lot like a marriage proposal, but it's more, something deeper than that. _

_ She kisses him softly, sweetly, her arms tight around his back. She pulls away slightly to whisper, “I want to spend forever with you Bellamy Blake.” _

_ The smile that spreads across his face is the most gorgeous thing she has ever seen, rivaling the sunsets. His brown eyes are warm, bright with happiness and she can see every single freckle on his face—the fact that she now has forever to count them all and memorize each and every single one makes her happy. She traces the scar above his lip and he grabs her hand and kisses her knuckles. _

Bellamy pulls her onto his lap as they settle in for the meeting. Clarke doesn’t bother to pay too much attention, too busy observing how happy everyone is.

Sure they still have issues like no communication and people still stealing food but they are all alive and happy. Octavia has no blood on her face and has Jasper’s hand on her arm to keep her from giving in to her anger fully.

Food supply is low and there is no privacy but still, Jasper shines with a sense of peace and confidence that comes from mourning, from grief. His smiles are a little more frequent and there is no more anger towards her. 

Jasper choosing to go to the bunker changed things. Octavia didn’t succumb to madness and the fighting pits are simply something from one of Bellamy’s stories. They all stayed in the bunker per Octavia’s orders and although the rooms are crowded with two people in a bed, this is a good life. They have made the best out of four years so far. 

* * *

Dinner is a lively affair, the table is full of people laughing and talking. Clarke soaks it all up, laughing with Raven as she leans against Murphy’s shoulder mid-laughter while Emori presses a kiss to her cheek. Miller feeds Jordan and when half of the food ends up on his shirt, he kisses the boy's head, and Clarke’s heart aches.

She hopes that this Jordan grows up to have the same smile as her Jordan, to know that he’s loved. She’s happy that they aren’t just stories to him, that they are real physical people who can hold him, play with him, and love him. 

She watches as Octavia beams at Jasper as he talks to Monty, her eyes soft. She looks young and Clarke remembers that Octavia is barely twenty—she’s still a child in so many ways, having grown up under the floor of her rooms and now underground. But right here, right now, she doesn’t look like a commander or like a girl who has slaughtered countless people—none of them do. She looks like a young girl who is in love. Love, happiness—it looks good on Octavia.

It looks good on all of them. 

* * *

She and Bellamy skip the movie night with everyone else. They ignore the catcalls and whistles that follow them as they make their way back to their room. 

As soon as they enter the room, he’s sinking to his knees, his fingers curling around the waistband of her pants before he pulls them down. He kisses her thigh before pulling it over his shoulder. He looks up at her, eyes dark and she sinks her fingers into his hair, dragging him closer to her cunt. Bellamy seems to sense her urgency because he sets a quick pace, his tongue swirling around her clit before diving into her folds. She can tell that Bellamy likes the sounds she makes, his nails dig into her skin and he moans into her as she tugs on his curls tighter. 

It’s not long before she comes with a loud cry and he continues to lick her, only more gently as she calms down and realizes her death grip on his hair. 

He rises to his feet and she pulls him toward him, kissing him and tasting herself on his tongue. She guides him toward their bed and he pulls away to undress. He ducks down, laying on the bed as she joins him, straddling him and sinking down with a moan.

His hands are tight on her waist and she grabs the rails of the bed as he thrusts up into her. His mouth presses kisses to her breasts, sucking on her rosy pink nipples, alternating between them. She closes her eyes, letting herself enjoy this feeling—letting her voice carry in the small room, Bellamy’s grunts and moans matching hers.

When she and Bellamy do come, they come together like they do everything else. 

Both of them are sweating and panting slightly, sheets pooled around their waists. She has her back against the wall, her arms wrapped around Bellamy’s waist, and her soft breasts pressed against his back. Every now and then her hands will reach down to stroke his cock but other than that they are peaceful.

Clarke has been in this life, in this universe for nearly a day, so she's sure she doesn’t have much time left here.

For a second she entertains the idea of not going back—if for some reason anomaly Bellamy isn’t able to call her back and she has no choice but to stay here with everyone she loves—a life where she and Bellamy can be happy.

It's a silly thought, she knows, but a part of her aches for it. For this—to be able to hold her Bellamy in her arms, her lips pressed to the freckles on his shoulders. 

She tightens her grip around his shoulders as she feels the familiar tug.

No, she wants to stay. She wants to fall asleep in Bellamy's arms again. She wants to hug Jasper and Octavia.

She's not ready to leave yet.

She whispers, “I love you” into his shoulder, the words faint on her lips as he slips from her grasp—as she feels herself leaving him, leaving them all behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jasper!!!! We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Pris on [Tumblr](https://queen-of-the-wallflowers15.tumblr.com) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Bi_Bellamy), Mads on [Tumblr](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stealjasonsjob) and Elle on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/hopskipaway)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you on Thursday for a new chapter!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t keep running like that.” 
> 
> She sighs. This isn’t a conversation she wants to have.
> 
> *
> 
> Clarke finds herself someplace safe—but safe doesn't last does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 18 time! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [kinetic-elaboration.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_stone/pseuds/elle_stone)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Elle.](https://hopskipaway.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Madison & Elle are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

“Clarke.” It’s not Bellamy’s voice that pulls her back to her own reality. 

“Jasper,” she smiles, taking in his messy hair and goggles balanced haphazardly on his head. Part of her is glad it’s not Bellamy staring at her, not after their last interaction. And while it’s technically still the anomaly stone, she can pretend that it’s not. She can pretend that her old friend is alive again like he was in that last universe. 

Even though it’s not him, she steps forward to wrap him in a hug anyway. His arms come up to return the gesture, though she can tell his heart isn’t really in it. When she pulls back, he gives her a pointed look. 

“You can’t keep running like that.” 

She sighs. This isn’t a conversation she wants to have. She doesn’t want to talk about why she shot Bellamy. She doesn’t want to relive the memory and dissect what she was feeling between the anger and the fear and the hurt. She has to live with her choice for the rest of her life—however long that may be—and the last thing she wants to do is waste the precious time she has here. 

Based on the sympathetic look Jasper gives her, he must know what she’s thinking. And as much as it’s frustrating for him to be able to see into her mind, she’s glad this time that she doesn’t have to try to articulate what she’s feeling. 

So instead he leads her over to another picture. She knows the conversation isn’t over, that he’ll bring it up again eventually. But the respite is welcomed, and Clarke gives him a small smile in thanks before reaching out her hand and letting a new universe pull her in. 

* * *

Far away at the horizon, a blue-gray sea meets a blue-gray sky. The only disturbances Clarke can perceive are the slight ripples of waves coming toward her. She’s standing somewhere above them, not the solid ground she knows beneath her feet but only the rhythmic movement of the water—she’s adrift on the ocean, too far away from land to see the shore. For a second, this realization makes her so dizzy that she has to close her eyes.

As she opens them again, she takes a deep breath and starts to feel steadier on her feet. Now she’s better able to appreciate the vastness of the ocean in front of her, and how, if she leans tentatively forward and squints, she can only barely find the place where the sea meets the sky. The skyline is so distant that she feels as if she’s reached the edge of the world. This thought in turn creates a deep sense of serenity in her; she feels it seeping through her like water through parched earth.

The ocean is calm today. And she is calm. Around her is not silence, or simply the lapping of the waves against the structure below her, but the pleasant white noise of activity, conversation, and laughter. She tunes it out and listens to the water; she breathes in deep lungfuls of cool, salt-laced air. If only there was a breeze today, the scene would be perfect.

She knows it would be, because this other Clarke has felt the bite of a refreshing gust of wind across the ocean. Blustery days on Luna’s oil rig are her favorites. From the bits of memories Clarke can discern, she easily understands why. The tangle of her hair around her and the tumult of the ocean, the graying of the sky that warns of a coming storm, the force of the elements surrounding her all at once—the first time she felt it, in the hour before a rain cloud broke and drove them all into the lower levels of the rig, she felt terrified and excited and wonderfully alive all at once. Even now, the memory makes her smile.

She and the delinquents have been living with Floukru for several weeks now. When Clarke returned to the dropship ahead of the Grounder army and told them to run, Bellamy had not hesitated, and they'd left their home behind without a second thought. The Grounders were just on their heels. They faced losses. But not as many as she'd feared, and as they reached the edge of Trikru territory and trudged deeper on into the forest, heading east, they eventually left the army of warriors behind.

_ Lincoln finds them a day later, resting and regrouping by the side of a rushing stream. Much stealthier than they are, he crept up on them so silently that even Clarke jumped when he appeared. "Gave us all heart attacks," Jasper quips. But his voice is shaking, his hands shaking. Clarke can’t blame him. They left a home they’d built from nothing with only what they could carry and the clothes on their backs, only to find themselves one step up from lost and still watching for danger at every turn. _

__

_ Bellamy is crouching on a wide rock at the edge of the stream, paused in the middle of splashing water on his face. Clarke watches the last of it drain out between his fingers, a few droplets hanging to his eyelashes and dripping from his nose, as he stares at Lincoln warily and refuses to look at her.  _ Regretting his choice? _ she wonders. But they'd gone too far by then to think of turning back. _

_ Like Jasper, they’re scared. They’re all scared, then. And they don’t breathe a sigh of relief for several more days. _

Clarke scrubs her hands over her face, but even lost in the worst of these new memories, she can't entirely keep herself from smiling. Maybe what she wanted in her own life was always this: a distant horizon and a bite to the air.

On foot, the trek to the shoreline was much longer than what Clarke remembers from her own life, when she followed the same route in the Rover. But at least with Lincoln to guide them, they'd known for sure they were on the right path. He'd been able to negotiate a safer passage across the water, too: no potentially poisoned drinks or time spent knocked out, and no waking up in blackness with no idea where they were. The surviving members of the hundred asked nothing of Luna and her clan but safe harbor, and that was granted. As long as they were peaceful, they could stay.

The first week was still difficult. Before Luna's people found beds for all seventy-five of them, they slept on the floor or out on the deck. Not everyone in the clan spoke English, and miscommunication was common. Clarke stayed long hours with Raven as she recovered from the harrowing surgery Floukru’s healer had performed on her leg. Bellamy paced the periphery of the room for hours, and when Raven kicked him out, he paced along the deck instead.

He was so silent then. Clarke understood implicitly what was burdening him still: that if they'd made the wrong decision, they were stuck. Only Luna's people could provide them with boats back to the coast, and even if they turned back, where would they go? The dropship camp would be destroyed by now. They'd played their very last card, and what was left?

Clarke takes in another deep breath and sighs. If this version of her feels all the time like she feels now, then the choice was right. She knows from her own experiences that it wasn’t easy. She’d wrestled with it too, in her own life. But leaving the dropship camp brought her other self here: to the deck of the oil rig, watching the steady rhythm of the waves, feeling the steady working of her own lungs. It brought her to this community she can call hers.

Behind her, familiar, heavy footsteps sound across the desk, louder than the rise and fall of conversation and activity in the busy early afternoon. She knows that gait well. She’d know it anywhere and in any time. So she's not surprised when she feels strong arms loop around her waist. Still, she pretends to yelp with shock, just before she sinks back into the embrace.

"Don't scare me like that," she warns.

"Mmm, like you were scared," Bellamy answers and hugs her a little tighter still. "Could have fooled me."

Clarke makes a low noise, shrugging as she agrees that he’s right. She curls her hands around his forearms, holding on to him like he's holding on to her, and lets him rock them back and forth as they look out across the sea. As they do, her mind easily wanders again to the day of the first storm.

_ She’s out on the deck alone, everyone else having already run for shelter below. But she wants to watch bright lightning crack across dense, gray skyscapes of clouds, to listen to the thunder booming and echoing all around her. She's seen storms before on Earth but not like this. Not as exhilarating as this. Even as it starts to rain, a downpour all at once like the sky itself has simply opened up, she stays above and feels herself get soaked. _

__

_ From the doorway, Bellamy yells at her above the wind, "Clarke, are you insane? Get in here! Come on!" _

__

_ She feels sympathy for the worried desperation in his voice. But she only shakes her head and teases, "You'll have to come and get me!" _

__

_ So he does. Exasperated at first, when he runs out into the rain and the wind, but laughing by the time he catches up to her, he tackles her so forcefully that they slip and almost fall onto the floor. But somehow they save themselves. Here they are, wrapped up in each other's arms and nose to nose. They’re so soaked that they hardly feel the rain or the cold anymore, staring at each other through the haze of the storm and yet with a new clarity, all at once. _

__

_ She pulled him in by the front of his shirt and kisses him, without thinking, without needing to think. His skin is cold and slick with rain, his arms around her and his body against hers warm and strong. _

Clarke understands now, feeling that same strength and warmth from his embrace, why her other self has allowed herself this. In her own time, she never did. She never felt like she could afford to be vulnerable, or to take any emotional risks that could jeopardize her partnership with Bellamy. But the Clarke who lives on Luna’s oil rig is not in charge. She and Bellamy don't make the rules. They ask questions. They try to learn and make themselves useful. Their own people still come to them to settle disagreements among themselves or with the Floukru clan, and Luna treats them as the ones in charge of the delinquent group. But the burden of leadership has lessened and in its place has settled a sense of relief and calm.

Experiencing even a taste of this other existence, and what it is like to live without the ever-present threat of attack and war, in a community that is established and steady and safe, allows her to understand what that feeling of calm could bring. It has cleared a new space in her life and in her heart. Bellamy fits perfectly there.

"So," she asks now, as their last conversation returns to her, "how's the hunt for Octavia going?"

Bellamy scoffs. He hears the teasing tone in her voice and knows it well. The rig is only so big, Clarke likes to remind him, so how does his sister always manage to disappear within its depths?

"Found her a few minutes ago," Bellamy answers. "She was trailing Luna around again."

"Should have been the first place you looked."

He hums again, a low and reluctant assent. Ever since Lincoln let it slip that Luna used to be the fiercest warrior in her clan, Octavia's favorite place has become wherever Luna is. Whether Luna is as keen on Octavia, Clarke still isn't sure. She searches through the memories of her other self, curious, but this other Luna is as opaque as the Floukru leader Clarke knew. She hasn't taken the opportunity to show Octavia how to fight, but she has taught her how to fish, how to cook, and how to say certain, specific words in Floukru slang.

"I think Luna's a good influence," Clarke declares. Maybe, she thinks, if the Octavia of her time hadn’t already been so lost when they met, Luna could have been a good influence for her, too.

Clarke feels Bellamy pull back slightly and twists herself around to look at him. "You disagree?"

His brow furrows. After a moment, he admits, "No."

"You just think she's hard to read? Luna, I mean."

"A little." He rolls his shoulders back, as if trying to shake the tension off them, then lets out a breath and tugs Clarke back against his chest. He sticks his hands in the pockets of her jacket so that when he hugs her close, he bundles her up all at once. "I guess if O is going to pretend to be a Grounder, she might as well pretend to be Luna."

Clarke is about to say that she agrees, but before she can do more than open her mouth, a loud burst of laughter and scattered clapping behind them draws her attention away. She and Bellamy half-turn at the same moment. Jasper, Monty, and several Floukru children are sitting on a bench several feet away. Monty, in the middle of a magic show, has just pulled a small seashell out from behind one little girl's ear. Jasper leads the clapping and cheering—"Isn't he great?"—while the girl examines her prize and the other kids jump and clamor for more.

Clarke can’t contain herself. “That’s a pretty impressive trick!” she calls, clapping along with the kids. Her friends don’t look that much older than the crowd gathered around them, and in this universe, they get a chance to act their age at least a little longer. The thought fills her with unadulterated joy.

"Just wait until you see him pull a sea monster out of his hat," Jasper answers, grinning.

Monty just rolls his eyes. "I’m saving that one for my next show."

Clarke laughs and promises, "I'll be there!"

She and Bellamy turn away again, still smiling, their gazes drifting inevitably back to the sea as Monty preps his next trick and Jasper hypes up the crowd. This, she thinks, is what a life without Mount Weather could have looked like for them. A sense of safety and peace, a chance to heal—not to mention enough food to eat and water to drink. Miller is learning how to steer the Floukru boats that occasionally take trips back to the shore, and Harper has taken to sitting in with Clarke on her lessons with the Floukru healer. Fox sings songs in the dining room after dinner. Raven is starting a second career as a different sort of mechanic, on a different sort of ship.

These images come to Clarke as easily and as clearly as memories of her own life do. She's used to this phenomenon by now, and yet the simplicity of them still strikes her, how naturally they float up to the surface of her thoughts.

"You're somewhere else," Bellamy says.

Clarke startles. He isn't reading her thoughts, but in a way, he's more right than he knows.

"Oh. Maybe," she admits. "Just thinking."

"I bet I can guess about what."

She tries to smile. "All right. Go ahead, then. Guess."

Bellamy doesn't answer right away, and she's about to tease him about his overconfidence. Then he says, "You're thinking about the Ark."

The suggestion catches her off-guard, and when she doesn't answer, Bellamy hugs her close again and adds, quietly, "I want to know what happened to them, too."

Clarke tries to remember what this other self might know, what she can safely say. They saw the Exodus ship exploding, her mother apparently dead. The Ark itself...Unless something else has changed in this universe, at least some of the stations have made it down by now. But Bellamy doesn't know that. And he may never know.

She squeezes his arm as tightly as she can, a gesture he seems to take as a request for reassurance, but which she really means as an apology. He presses a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

"Maybe someday we'll know," she says, but Bellamy just laughs, a dull and quiet sound.

"Clarke, I think that's one mystery we're just going to have to live with."

* * *

She assumes that, within this life, Bellamy is right, until that evening he is proven wrong.

Floukru dinners are always long affairs. After eating, most of the clan stays seated in their particular circles, talking and telling stories or playing music for hours, and if they move at all it is only to join a new group and wile away the night with a different group of friends. Tonight, Clarke is dining with Bellamy, Octavia, Raven, and Miller. They've pushed their plates away, let the background noise around them shift from pure conversation to a mix of voices, laughter, and singing. Clarke has settled comfortably against Bellamy's side. His hand rests on her knee, his thumb shifting lazily back and forth against her leg. Octavia is telling another one of her Luna stories. Around them, soft lantern lights glow and scattered fires flicker.

"And then," Octavia is saying, "just when she thought the fish was about to get away—"

Raven yawns. She tries to stifle the sound behind her hand but Octavia catches her, scowling as she whips her gaze to her left.

"Am I boring you?"

"No," Raven lies. "Hey, what do you think is going on over there?"

Clarke can feel Bellamy's quiet laughter, like a low rumble reverberating in his chest. It  _ is _ an obvious trick. But Raven really is pointing toward the exit, and a conversation going on in the shadows by the door.

Luna is standing there, poring over a piece of paper, talking in low tones to a Grounder that Clarke has never seen before.

The longer Clarke watches them, the more uneasy she feels, and the more a similar tension rises among her friends. She can see them all sitting up a little straighter. Raven crosses her arms tight against her chest and even Octavia seems wary. Miller starts to stand, but Bellamy throws out an arm and warns him back.

Clarke doesn't separate herself from Bellamy, but she does settle her hand on top of his hand as Luna and the unknown Grounder approach.

"Clarke. Bellamy," she greets them, nodding first to them and then to the others. Her voice is as level and as unreadable as it was the first time they met: the tone of a leader entering a negotiation, still keeping her distance from the threat of the unknown. Clarke hears a wariness in it now. She can't stop looking at the paper in Luna's hand.

"Adam has just returned from a meeting in Trikru territory. On his way back, he encountered—" Luna hesitates, the first hesitation Clarke has ever seen from her. Even when she was deciding whether or not to let them stay, she retained a serene and imperious calm, as if the decision, though weighty, held no urgency. "He encountered something you and your people might find interesting." Abruptly, she flips the paper around so that it is readable to the group and thrusts it into Clarke's hands.

She holds it carefully and reads aloud, "Clarke. We made it to the ground. Found the dropship abandoned. Survivors from Alpha and Mecha are on our way to the City of Light, heading N-N-E—north, northeast. Watch for other stations. Find us if you can. Love, Mom."

As soon as she finishes, she reads the note a second time to herself. The message hits like an invader from another life, a bomb to blow up the peace and tranquility that she's been living in. What is left makes her life over the last few weeks appear like little more than a dream. She could almost believe that anomaly Bellamy has pulled her out of one life and summarily dropped her into another, what came before seems so unreal, and what lies ahead so new.

Maybe she shouldn't be as surprised as she is. Unlike the others, she at least knew that some Ark stations made it down to Earth. Her friends are watching her with a wary uncertainty, waiting for her to break first. The letter is from  _ her _ mom, after all. Yet they have so much more to process than she does.

Don't they?

She glances again at the words  _ City of Light _ . That part is new. As the information settles, as she sorts through the wreckage that's left from the bomb, she focuses on this particular break from the past she knows. She follows the trail of her own life as it branches off into a new path, and she catalogs the consequences. Her mother, Kane, Jaha, and the others made it to Earth. But then, finding the dropship abandoned, no sign of the hundred anywhere else, and an enemy they did not understand at the gate, they abandoned Camp Jaha and began a journey to the City of Light instead. The chance for salvation there must have seemed as wild and as unlikely as it did in Clarke's own life. Yet what other choice did they have? The Grounder army would have crushed them without Clarke's own negotiating skill. They had no clue where their children might be, or if they were even alive. Of course, they saw no reason to stay and try to fight.

Without meaning to, she has let the silence drag on for too long. Bellamy gently takes the paper from her hands and gives it to Miller instead. He starts to say her name, but Clarke shakes him off.

"Where did you find this?" she asks the Grounder, looking sharply up at him.

Luna translates the question, then his response.

"He says he ran into a great ship on land, just outside Trikru territory. It was at least as big as Floukru's territory, with a large arch above it. He found evidence of previous inhabitants, including a fire pit, the beginnings of a fence or wall around the perimeter, and a sign out front. He explored inside the ship but didn't find anyone there." She hesitates a moment, glancing first at the Grounder, then at Bellamy. "He scavenged what he could, and he brought that message.” She gestures to the paper but keeps a steady gaze on Bellamy and Clarke. “Are these more of your people?"

" _ Were _ they?" Raven corrects, so low that she can barely be heard.

"What does this even mean?" Miller asks. "The City of Light? Why did they just abandon Alpha Station to go looking for—that?"

"It's a legend," Luna answers. "A place of prosperity and equality, where everyone is welcome. Not many of us believe in it. It's a favored story of outcasts and other desperate people."

"You'd have to be desperate to believe in a paradise on this Earth," Miller says. He looks over at Bellamy and Clarke. "I can't believe the Ark would fall for something like that. Do you think it's a trick?"

Clarke shakes her head. "No. I think when Anya's army couldn't find us, they went after the only other Sky People they  _ could _ find."

"So you think—they were just trying to escape  _ our _ war?" Bellamy meets her gaze, and Clarke gives the slightest of nods.

"At least the City of Light is a destination," she adds. "Some kind of direction to take."

"While fleeing," Octavia finishes. "We shouldn't have left the dropship. If we'd known the rest of the Ark was still out there—"

"You'd want to find them?" Raven asks, smiling ruefully. "I thought you were ready to let everyone on the Ark die? Good riddance to them?"

Octavia scowls. "It's about fighting our own battles," she insists.

"Can we all just  _ stop _ ?" Clarke holds up her hands, and the others abruptly quiet and turn their attention to her. Her voice sounds too loud and too desperate, even to her own ears. She looks up at Luna and Adam again. "Is he sure he didn't see anyone? Nobody at all?"

Luna translates. Adam shakes his head.

Clarke takes a deep breath. Her hand is still covering Bellamy's, and as she exhales, she links her fingers through his. She feels his gaze on her even before she turns to meet it.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asks, and Clarke nods.

"Well the rest of us don't have telepathy," Raven snaps, "so can you please share with the group?"

"It's basically what Octavia said, isn't it?" Clarke says. "If our people are out there, we have to find them. They got caught up in our war, and we owe it to them. Plus…my mom might still really be alive. Miller's dad might be. There could be other stations out there besides Alpha and Mecha, other family members waiting for us. The sooner we can get a group together and leave, the better.” She gives a single, decisive nod. “Tomorrow, if possible."

The suggestion does not meet with universal agreement, but instead with a cacophony of questions. Who will go? With what weapons? With what supplies? How will they find Alpha Station, let alone the City of Light? How long will they be gone? Even Luna seems skeptical, though she ultimately agrees to outfit them with whatever materials she can provide.

Clarke insists that they waste no time. It’s what her other self would do, for all the reasons Clarke now gives, and Bellamy backs her up with equal force. But not even he understands her insistence. He doesn’t know the true threat posed by the City of Light or the danger they will soon be in. This knowledge from her past life is both a barrier between them and a burden that she carries all alone.

* * *

A tranquil night has settled over the ocean. All of Floukru has gone to bed, and the delinquents too. In their dorm, only a single light has been left burning: the flickering of the lantern next to Clarke and Bellamy's bed.

Clarke paces slowly back and forth next to their pallet, listening to the sounds of the others sleeping—their steady breathing and snoring, the whisper of someone twisting and turning from unsettling dreams—and the occasional deep creaks and groans of the rig itself that drown out all the rest. These mysterious noises once kept her up at night. They all but fade into the background now, and the measured pace of her own footsteps strikes her ear as louder still.

She can feel Bellamy watching her. He's lying on their bed, propped up on his elbow. When she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, she can see the lantern flames reflecting like streaks of gold against his skin.

They’ll set out tomorrow at dawn, with Miller, Octavia, and two members of Floukru as company. If she wants any chance of a decent night's sleep before the journey, she should go to bed now. She knows this, and she feels a thin glimmer of guilt for keeping Bellamy up this long with her, but she can't control her restless legs or quiet her even more unsettled thoughts.

Not much time remains in this world. She can't even be sure that, if she goes to sleep now, she'll be able to wake up again in Bellamy's arms. At most, she may be allowed to leave the ship, to start the trip back to Alpha Station and the abandoned Camp Jaha. But to remain here long enough to see the camp itself would require staying much longer than anomaly Bellamy would allow. She can't begin to guess how long it will take the group to find anything of worth.

But every time she reminds herself  _ you will not see your mother here _ , her mind rejects the thought, and rifles desperately through impossible scenarios that might offer some slight hope. Each is as impractical as the last. Unless Jaha has led his band of A.L.I.E. recruits from Becca's mansion directly to the Floukru oil rig, she won't cross paths with them tomorrow.

She pauses for a moment at the foot of the bed. Very faintly, she thinks she can hear the rush of the waves outside. But maybe that's no more than her imagination, an attempt to hear once more that comforting and soothing sound. Bellamy is still staring at her, and though she's turned away from him, she can easily picture the worried expression on his face: the slight furrow to his brow, the concern in his eyes.

The best case, of course, is that her mother and the rest have not made it to the City of Light. Then she and her friends can intercept them before they reach A.L.I.E. at all. But how will this other Clarke know where to go? She can follow the directions on Abby's note, but that will still put her at a distinct disadvantage, with the Ark survivors so many days ahead.

A more likely scenario is that they've either reached the mansion or died trying. But if they're still alive, if her mother is, or any of the others, then at least Clarke and her people have a chance to save them. They did it before. They can do it again.

_ Before you had Raven _ , a little voice in her head taunts.  _ Raven and her A.L.I.E. expertise. You had more time. You knew more about the threat. You've given all that up now, you're facing A.L.I.E. with nothing on your side— _

Her hands ball up into fists, her fingernails biting into skin.

"Clarke," Bellamy's quiet voice behind her murmurs. "Just come to bed. You need to sleep."

How long has he been waiting to say that? Has he picked this moment because he can tell how frazzled and useless her thoughts have become? Clarke lets out a deep, slow sigh, and feels the tension she's kept wound tight in her shoulders start to fade. Bellamy is with her. She does have that. Bellamy will be with her tomorrow, or with the other version of her.

She turns around again and looks at him, and a new sadness floats up in her. If she lies down now and goes to sleep, she may lose him. She may be pulled from this life, and she doesn't know what her next life will be. Will they love each other? Will they be partners or friends? Will they even know each other?

Wearily, she takes a step forward and forces herself to sit down on the edge of the bed. Bellamy sits up and edges closer. She can feel him drawn to her, as steady and as inevitable as the tide. He wraps his arms around her again and presses a kiss to her shoulder. His nose pokes gently at the side of her neck.

She holds onto his arms as tightly as she can. Maybe if she doesn't fall asleep right away, she can hold on to this life a little longer, too. Not long enough to save anyone else, or to see if they can be saved, but at least long enough to be with Bellamy for one night more.

"Are you okay?" he asks her.

She nods. "Yeah."

"We'll find them, you know. Your mother left directions. That's a good start."

He's being optimistic for her because he thinks it's what she needs to hear. He knows so little. But at least he's lived some weeks of peace with her, and this other Clarke has known rest and quiet, too. Maybe she should give them both more credit: they were still healing from division when they faced the A.L.I.E. threat in Clarke's own time. In this universe, at least they have each other.

When she entered the City of Light, she was holding his hand. Now the memory of his palm gripping tightly to hers brings her peace.

"I know," she says, and tries to smile. "We've managed with less before."

She twists around in his arms to kiss him, just in case this is her last chance, a soft, slow kiss that seems to startle him at first. Then he relaxes into it.

When she pulls away, he asks, "Are you ready to get some sleep now?" and she almost says no. She wants to stay awake with him. But he needs to rest, and she needs to lie in his arms for a while.

And for a time, she does. He pulls the blankets over them, while Clarke extinguishes the lantern. She listens as his breathing settles into the steady rhythm of sleep and she watches the blackness as if she could see her people, even as outlines, in it. Before she's ready to let go, she feels the dizziness pulling at her again. She keeps her eyes stubbornly open even as it tugs at her, even as she finds herself fading, and falling, and gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit more Luna—we love to see it! We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow kinetic-elaboration on [Tumblr](https://kinetic-elaboration.tumblr.com/) and Elle on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/hopskipaway)
> 
> Come scream with us @wreckjrothclub on [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you on Sunday for a new chapter!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ll never lose me,” he says with a sad smile, taking hold of her hand. “Not really. I’ll always be with you. Just don’t forget me.”
> 
> ***
> 
> Clarke thinks she knows better than the anomaly—she does not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! Here's chapter 19 — hope you enjoy reading! 
> 
> Chapter written by [Ali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Princess_Blake/pseuds/Miss_Princess_Blake).
> 
> Intro written by Mads.
> 
> Moodboard by [Leah](https://nakey-cats-take-bathsss.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Ali, Elle, and Mads are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

Clarke feels more at peace when she comes back to herself this time—which isn’t necessarily a good thing. These universes are quickly becoming a drug she doesn’t want to give up, something to help center her the way Bellamy used to. 

_Because these universes give you Bellamy._

She ignores the thought, instead opening her eyes to look for the anomaly. When she doesn’t immediately see anyone, a streak of panic goes through her. But then she hears the clearing of a voice, and she realizes anomaly Jasper is sitting on the ground slumped up against the wall at her feet. 

“I didn’t think the anomaly could get tired,” she teases, reaching a hand to pull him up. He gives her a boyish grin that’s all Jasper and her heart pangs. It’s been so long since she’s seen that smile, seen Jasper truly happy. Such a shame that the world took such a ray of sunshine and managed to pound out the light in his eyes. 

“Me? Never. Not tired at all.” He knocks her elbow with his own, gesturing with a nod for her to follow him down the hall. “Come on, your next universe awaits.” 

Clarke looks for any images that stick out to her as she walks down the hall, and Jasper matches her pace. He stays quiet, head bobbing along as if he’s listening to imaginary music in his head. It’s technically the anomaly, so maybe he is. 

When she doesn’t look away for a minute, he raises an eyebrow at her. “Do I have something on my face or something?” 

She shakes her head. “No, it’s just…” He looks at her expectantly. “You remind me so much of him. Why does talking to you, interacting with you, really feel like I’m talking to the people you’re pretending to be?” 

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than me ‘pretending’ to be someone else,” he explains, hands coming up to put quotes around the word ‘pretending.’ “The anma stones have direct access to every lifetime of every person to have ever lived. So the manifestation uses all of the versions of Jasper when you interact with me. The same for Bellamy and any others.” 

All of the versions of Jasper. This amalgamation seems lighter than the Jasper she spoke to last, more like the teenager she first met on the dropship. “I wish he’d been able to find peace in my universe,” she muses, turning her attention back to the walls to search for a sketch.

“That’s the beauty of the anma stones recording each lifetime—there are infinite universes where he did.” 

She smiles at that idea, at Jasper laughing and carefree and truly himself. Her mind is brought back to one of the first universes she experienced, where Jasper was friends with Monty and Octavia in a world where they weren’t constantly worried about life and death. She wants that for him—for all of the 100. 

Then her eyes catch on a particular sketch. She’s holding Bellamy in her arms, and he looks like he’s asleep. Peaceful. 

She starts to reach out to touch it, but Jasper grabs her hand before she can. “You won’t like the way that one ends.” Clarke can see the warning in his eyes, feels it in the way his hand is clasped firmly around her own. 

But there’s that morbid curiosity again. She wants to know what happens, how the peaceful scene she’s watching ends up falling apart. _You want proof that there are other universes that end worse than your own_ , her own mind chastises. 

Regardless of the true reason, she’s drawn to the image. The hand not in Jasper’s lifts to touch the wall anyway. “Can’t be worse than the way mine ends, right?” 

She thinks she hears him mumble the word ‘debatable,’ but she’s already falling into the darkness. 

* * *

When Clarke wakes up in this new version of reality, it doesn’t take her long for her to snap into it. The good news is she also knows exactly where she is.

It is a similar enough scene for Clarke. As she stands on top of the radio tower she watches the rocket take off. It’s a bittersweet feeling. She remembers what the next six years are going to bring. The fear, the pain, the loneliness. But she gets to be with Madi and her friends are safe. That’s really all that ever matters in any universe.

That’s always been her goal, through every decision she has made.

There isn’t time to think back on her life, though. She knows she has limited time to get to the ground and make it back to the bunker in time so that the radiation doesn’t consume her.

She can’t help feeling a bit of annoyance that, of all things, she is living through this part again. Her skin is on fire, her heart is racing, and there’s still that tiny shred of fear that she isn’t going to make it.

The breath of air she sucks in when she finally closes the bunker doors is not as satisfying as she would like it to be and there is still enough radiation in the air and on her skin to make it feel like she is still outside.

As she throws off her destroyed helmet, she knows unconsciousness is coming soon. It is going to be a long road to feeling better and she isn’t sure how long she is going to be in this world, but the last thing she remembers before it goes black is thinking she hears someone talking to her and a blessedly cool hand on her forehead, pushing her hair back.

When she comes to, she has no sense of how long it’s been, but her instinct says it’s only been a few hours. Only, in her timeline, she remembers waking up on the floor of the bunker with a pile of black blood she had thrown up beside her. Instead, here she has been stripped of her radiation suit and is tucked into the small bed upstairs.

Her confusion only grows when she hears the distinctive sound of someone coughing behind her. She turns quickly and her heart sinks when she sees him.

“Bellamy?” Clarke asks, hoping this is just some radiation-soaked nightmare.

“Hey princess,” Bellamy says before another round of coughing has his entire body folding in on itself from the force of them.

His face is pale, paler than she has ever seen, and his curls are sweat-drenched and sticking to his forehead. It is clear he is in pain from the sores and blisters that have popped up on his hands and chest. But the thing that truly scares her the most is the cough, as each new fit leaves blood on his hand, the mattress, and his shirt.

_Red blood._

Oh, God. It hits Clarke like a train as she realizes what is happening. Bellamy isn't a nightblood and there is too much radiation in the air. He is dying.

His coughing begins to die down and Clarke fights against his protests and her own pain to move. She tries to clean him up without aggravating his sores.

“God,” she says harshly, fear and irritation fighting for dominance in her head. “What are you doing here? What were you thinking? You were supposed to be on the rocket. You were supposed to leave me behind.”

As she talks, she does her best to move around the room, trying to find something — anything — that can help him. Maybe some radiation pills or something? Anything to give them time while she figures out what to do.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says hoarsely. She ignores him, her task at hand more important than anything he might say. But then he tries to sit up and she rushes back to his side. “Clarke.”

He traces a hand lightly over her cheek and smiles at her sadly. 

“Fuck. Why did you stay?” Her voice breaks on the last word and tears fill her eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“I couldn’t let you die alone,” he says, threading their fingers together.

She lets herself cry then, unwilling to accept this fate. He wraps her in his arms and they just sit like that for a few minutes.

When another coughing fit hits him, she sits up, determined. “I won’t let you die.”

He doesn’t fight her this time as she leaves the room. She is beginning to feel a bit stronger as the nightblood does its job inside her body and she manages to make it back to the main floor, digging through every cabinet and drawer she can find. Finally, she finds a bottle with two pills. It’s not enough, she knows that, but maybe it can keep him alive just long enough for her to find something else.

When she gets upstairs, he is nearly passed out and she panics. “No, no, no. Bellamy.”

She shakes him and he barely opens his eyes. “I need you to stay awake, ok? I need you to take these pills.”

He does so with no complaint before falling asleep despite her protests. But his breathing seems steady for the most part and his heart rate is good. When she is satisfied that he is as stable as can be expected, for now, she begins to pace. The nightblood serum is gone, the last dose tested on her. She doesn’t know how to make more and even if she did she doesn’t have everything she needs. She isn’t even sure if her nightblood would work to synthesize more.

Although, there is one last thing they could try. But she will have to ask him. She stops her pacing and looks at him, already certain what his answer is going to be.

It will be risky but it may be his only shot at survival. While he sleeps, she gets everything ready for his procedure before settling in beside him to wait for him to wake up.

After an hour Bellamy stirs and she is by his side in an instant. He opens his eyes slowly and smiles when he sees her. Clarke’s heart breaks and she tries not to think about how many times it has done so before.

The truth of the matter is that there is a good chance he is going to die. What she wants to try could very well kill him but if she does nothing he will definitely die. She’s out of options and he’s out of time.

“Why so blue, Princess?” Bellamy drawls.

Clarke takes a deep fortifying breath. “Bellamy, “ she starts, shaky, but clears her throat in an attempt to sound more confident. “Bell, I think you’re dying. There’s too much radiation in the room and even the bunker can’t keep everything out from Praimfaya.”

Bellamy frowns at her and then sighs before sitting up. “Clarke, I always knew that was a risk if I stayed. But it was one worth taking.”

“You’re so stupid,” she chides. “Didn’t I tell you that you needed to use your head? This is not using your head.”

“I already told you,” he said with a crooked smile, “I’ve got you for that.”

Tears rush to her eyes, remembering a moment so long ago for her, but that happened just a few hours ago in this universe. His hand brushing across her face. Them getting so close. But now isn’t the time to dwell on that. She has to focus on what is right in front of her.

“I have an idea,” she tells him. “But it’s a risky one. It might not work. It could even kill you. But it might be the only chance we have.”

“Always the brave princess,” he says with a laugh that’s just a little hoarse. “But I trust you. What do we have to do?”

“I want to give you my blood,” she says.

His eyes grow a bit wider and he swallows deeply before nodding slightly. “Like Mount Weather.”

It’s not a question, but she nods back at him anyway. “I have everything set up downstairs. The sooner we do this the better. The radiation pills I gave you earlier will buy you time but not much— not enough. If you think you can walk, I think we should go do this now.”

“Whatever you say,” he replies, starting to stand on shaky feet. “Let’s swap some blood, doc.”

She laughs at him, grateful for his dark humor in this moment, and helps him to the door. It takes a while to get him downstairs. He is shaky and weak, but they manage it. She gets him on the surgical table and hooked up to a heart rate monitor quickly before she does her last checks on the equipment.

“There’s a good chance this is going to make you feel like shit,” she explains to him as she preps his arm. “I don’t even know if we have the same blood type. But let me know if you start to feel worse or anything.”

“Clarke,” he says, placing a stilling hand on her own. “I trust you. If I’m meant to die then I’m meant to die. But if I’m meant to live then it will be by your hands.”

Tears fall immediately from her eyes that she didn’t even realize had formed. If he only knew how untrue those words were. She shakes her head to clear it. She needs to focus.

The steady beeping of the machines calms her thoughts. They are proof that he is alive. It’s true that his pulse is weaker than she would like and his oxygen levels aren’t great, but he is alive. With a last look at his steady, brown eyes she turns on the machine. As her black blood begins to flow through the tube and into his arm, he winces slightly but otherwise doesn’t react.

They are both quiet as the procedure continues. After a while, though, he reaches out and grabs her hand. She doesn’t let go.

Eventually, he falls asleep and she lets him rest. His body is trying to heal and he will need all the help he can get. The whole thing takes about four hours and when it is done, he is still dozing.

As she goes around the room, cleaning things up she is constantly aware of him. His breaths are shaky but mostly even, his heart rate hadn’t improved but it hadn’t dwindled either. The only thing making her nervous is that his blood oxygen levels are still very low. Still, only time would tell if the procedure has worked. For now, she will just have to wait.

She must have been making too much noise because Bellamy wakes up, but he smiles at her and it’s clear he doesn’t mind too much. “Hey there.”

“Hey yourself,” she says. “How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“A bit but no more than before,” he answers, sitting up. 

She manually checks his pulse to compare it to the machine. It’s weaker than it should be. “Alright, well let's head back upstairs and you can get some rest. Give your body a chance to adjust. It’s a good sign that your body didn’t reject the blood right away.”

“See?” he teases as he slides down from the table. “I knew you would save me.”

“One thing at a time,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

They make it to the room quicker than they had gotten down, but he wastes no time in lying down. It’s clear the walk has exhausted him.

“Clarke?” he asks after he gets comfortable. “Will you stay with me?”

“I'm not going anywhere,” she says. “I want to keep an eye on you. I’ll just grab a book and hang out in that chair in the corner in case you need anything.”

Bellamy blushes slightly and she realizes that maybe she misunderstood. “I was actually thinking maybe you could actually be here… with me.”

He shrugs as he pulls back the comforter and she melts.

“Alright,” she says as she scoots in beside him. The bed is warm and soft, better than anything she has slept in for a long time. And it’s made all the better with Bellamy beside her. Suddenly she realizes how tired she actually is. “I guess a little nap wouldn’t hurt.”

He takes her hand in his and she watches as his eyes droop closed and his breath evens out. It isn’t long after that she follows him into a dreamless sleep.

It’s the coughing that wakes her. She can’t tell how long it’s been but Bellamy has somehow climbed over her and onto the floor where a small pool of blood has collected below him. The blood is still red and she realizes the transfusion hadn’t worked.

“Bellamy!” she exclaims, scrambling out of bed to his side, running a hand up and down his spine. His back is sweaty and his henley is sticking to his skin. “Oh, God. I don’t know what to do.”

His coughs make his whole body shudder in pain and she knows he isn’t doing well. He glances at her briefly with bloodshot eyes before doubling over again. This time it’s so bad that he vomits on the floor. Only then does his coughing subside.

She eases him over a bit so he can get away from the mess but she never lets her hand move from his body. When they get closer to the bed, she contemplates trying to get him back into it so he can be more comfortable but decides against it, afraid to jostle him too much. Instead, she just rests his head in her lap and runs a hand over his hair.

“I’m so sorry Bellamy,” she says. “I’m sorry you’re here because of me. I’m sorry you’re going to die again because of me.”

“This isn’t your fault,” he chides, voice rough and a bit wet sounding. “I know you like to take responsibility for everyone else but this isn’t on you. I chose to be here. If I die then that’s on me.”

Clarke shakes her head. “But you only stayed behind because of me. And now I’m going to lose you anyways.”

“You’ll never lose me,” he says with a sad smile, taking hold of her hand. “Not really. I’ll always be with you. Just don’t forget me.”

Her heart clenches painfully as he begins to cough again. “Maybe there's something I missed downstairs. More pills or a nightblood serum we didn’t use.”

“Princess,” he rasps, grip weak on her hand, “you have to let go. It’s ok. You have to let me go.”

“I can’t,” her voice is broken and desperate with pain. “Bellamy, I can’t. Don’t you get that? I am so goddamn tired of watching you die. I am so tired of losing you over and over again. All I wanted to do was save you. When I saw that rocket take off I was so happy because I knew, in that moment, that you would live.”

Clarke’s tears fall freely now and she makes no attempt to stop them.

“God, why did you have to be here? Why would you stay behind and give up your only chance to live?”

“Because I wasn’t about to let the woman I love die alone,” he says quietly before another round of bloody coughs sends shivers down her spine. He wipes his mouth before he continues, “I should have told you so long ago. I should have told you every day that we have been on the ground. I am in love with you Clarke. And that’s why I couldn’t go. I couldn’t leave you behind.”

“Yes, you could have,” she yells. “You could have been safe, happy. You could have fallen in love with someone else, made a new family. And now you are going to leave me here all alone anyway, knowing I’ll never see you again.”

“Clarke,” he whispers, cupping her cheek in his hand as his own eyes fill with tears. “Promise me you will find a way. Promise me you will move on. You deserve all the happiness in the world. I’m so sorry I don’t get to be there for it but you still do.”

  
“Not without you,” she chokes out.

“Kiss me?” he begs, eyes mirroring the same brokenness she felt in her own heart. “Just this once?”

She does as he asks. It isn’t passionate or lustful or even happy. She knows what this is. She knows that this is goodbye.

When she pulls back after a moment he smiles at her, running a hand through her hair, before his arm falls weakly to his side.

“I love you, Clarke,” he says.

“I love you too,” she replies, burying her head in his chest. She doesn’t say it but she knows he hears the rest of her sentence in the words. I love you, I’ll miss you. 

_Goodbye._

She holds him tightly before slowly realizing she can no longer feel him breathing. Her head whips up and she sees his eyes are closed. She checks for a pulse and there is nothing there.

“Bellamy?” she pleads, shaking him. He doesn’t respond.

“Bellamy!” she screams. This can’t be happening. No. She can’t do this, not again. She can’t watch him die again.

“Don’t make me do this!” she yells into the void, not even sure the anomaly is listening. “Please. I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much. I can’t keep losing him.”

Clarke hopes that she will feel that telltale dizziness that means she can leave this world behind but it doesn’t come. All she is left with is the feeling of Bellamy, still solid and real below her, and yet she knows he is gone from her here as well.

Briefly, she can’t help but wonder how this Clarke is going to cope. Will Bellamy’s death be enough to push her over the edge, make her give up hope? She clearly won’t be talking to him on the radio. For a moment she wonders if that is what’s best for everyone. But she won’t let herself go down that road.

But the pain is all-encompassing. Over and over she has gotten to see how wonderful a life with this man could be. How many times would she be subjected to losing him, too?

It’s too much and her grief overwhelms her. Grief for the man she is holding who never belonged to her, grief for the man she killed so that her daughter could live only to die anyway, grief for all the Bellamys and all the Clarkes who would love and lose each other.

Could there be a happy ending to their story, truly? Despite everything she has experienced so far—the guilt, fear, and pain of this moment overrides any hope she has seen.

Or maybe it is just her, this version of herself who has been twisted and mangled into something that is so unlike herself that she isn’t sure she still recognizes her own reflection. The mighty Wanheda, dooming all those she loves to die. Maybe it is just her who doesn’t get a happy ending.

He had asked her to go on and be happy but she isn’t sure she even knows how.

Clarke screams and cries for what could be days, but probably isn’t. But it makes no difference. She isn’t getting pulled out of this. She isn’t being rescued. Just like every time before, this world has a set place it starts and ends.

Her voice is hoarse and her tears have long since dried when she finally calms down. As she lies on the floor of the bedroom all she can do is rock Bellamy’s lifeless body back and forth, mourning the man she lost here and the one she lost in her reality. Her only solace is that this time at least, she got to say goodbye.

She runs a hand over his curls, matted with sweat and blood and whatever other shit the ground threw at him. Her smile is sad as she lets her fingers wander over his cheeks, still warm, and she can almost convince herself he’s just sleeping.

Even in death, he’s beautiful.

Clarke lets out a shuddering breath, feeling her head begin to swim with dizziness and she knows. It’s time to say goodbye to this universe too.

“In peace, may you leave this shore,” she begins quietly, her voice feeling like an intruder in the otherworldly quiet of the room. “In love, may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground.”

Clarke’s eyes spill over with tears once more as she holds his hand. She is so damn tired. And with the dizziness pulling her under, it’s almost as if she hasn’t slept in too long and maybe, if she just curls up beside him, she can drift away too.

“Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim.”

Her eyes close of their own accord and everything goes black as those words swim in her head.

_May we meet again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This was a sad one for Clarke, but honestly, she should start to listen when the anomaly gives warnings. lol Comments and kudos are always appreciated. See you guys for the next update! 
> 
> Make sure to follow Ali on [Tumblr](https://slyth-princess.tumblr.com/) and Leah on [Tumblr](https://nakey-cats-take-bathsss.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s a universe I want to show you. Sort of the opposite of what you just saw,” he says, more hesitant than she’s used to coming from Bellamy (even if it is the anomaly and not really her Bellamy). 
> 
> “I’d like that.” 
> 
> *
> 
> This time Clarke lets the anomaly lead her to a universe as she realizes that maybe, just maybe, she should start heeding their warnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20 has arrived! We do hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Julie.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkesplaylist/pseuds/clarkesplaylist)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Heather.](https://excuseyouclarke.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Madison & Heather are involved with The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

Her first thought when she’s back in her own mind is that she should really start listening to the anomaly when she’s warned about a universe. She isn’t sure how many more she can stomach where she has to watch Bellamy die. It’s bad enough she had to endure it in her own lifetime. 

But she does feel steady on her feet after that universe—a stark change from the first time she had to watch him die in one of these alternate timelines. 

“Do you need a moment?” She’s not surprised that it’s Bellamy’s voice that greets her. The anomaly was right—she always sees him when she’s just gotten through a particularly tough universe. 

She considers asking him to hold her again like he did last time. Clarke knows he would if she asked. But instead she shakes her head. Because as difficult as it was to hold him in her arms and watch him suffer because of her, it solidifies that something had gone right in her own timeline. 

Clarke has no idea what decision in her own timeline led to Bellamy being willing to get in that rocket and take off without her. Maybe it was one person’s choice — Raven yelling at him, Clarke giving him that heart-and-head speech a certain way before they split up that day, Bellamy himself deciding that he owed it to the others to leave without her. Or maybe it was a culmination of choices. 

But no matter the specific path, she knows that in every lifetime she would rather go through all of the pain and loneliness and struggles of her time on Earth with him just a blip among the stars in the Ring than have him die because he stayed behind. 

She has a million regrets, but sacrificing herself so that everyone—including Bellamy—could get to the Ring that day would never be one of them. 

“There’s a universe I want to show you. Sort of the opposite of what you just saw,” he says, more hesitant than she’s used to coming from Bellamy (even if it is the anomaly and not really her Bellamy). 

“I’d like that.” 

And so he leads her over to a wall, navigates through a specific reality’s timeline, and then lifts her hand to touch the scene in front of them. 

* * *

Clarke opens her eyes and is immediately taken aback by all the green surrounding her. The trees, the flowers, the sky, the water—everything is so colorful. She immediately recognizes the place: Shadow Valley. She can’t help but feel the nostalgia—this has been her home for so long. It feels like she’s home again. Everything is the same: the vibrant colors, the smell of fish by the lake, the sounds of birds… 

She trails off, realizing that the sounds are not the same. In fact, it’s louder than in her memories. She can hear distant chatting, crying, and laughter. She’s still grasping the implications of these sounds when she’s pulled out of her thoughts by Madi.

“Clarke, look at the fish Hatch just caught!”

She turns her head to see a euphoric Madi standing next to a man whose face is familiar to her but that she can’t quite place. His name does ring a bell though. And then she remembers a discussion she’d had with Murphy after the reactor incident in her own universe. He’d explained how Hatch was a good man who knew he was going to die but kept working for his love. Her friend looked truly moved by this man, and she had regretted she wasn’t the one in his place. If Murphy was to be believed, Hatch was a good man, and he’s still alive in this timeline. But the man in front of her looks very different from the cocky prisoner she remembers. He looks more peaceful, like a man who doesn’t have to fight for a place to live, and he doesn’t wear his inmate outfit anymore. 

He’s not the only one who looks different, she realizes as she turns her gaze to Madi. She must be about the same age as the Madi from her own timeline, but she looks so much younger—more carefree. She’s like she had when it was just the two of them on Earth. 

_ That’s because she wasn’t made commander _ . 

That thought fills her with both joy and sorrow. She’s happy for this Madi, who looks so happy and was preserved from major trauma. It’s everything she ever wanted for her daughter. On the other hand, she can’t help but feel like she failed the Madi from her own timeline—not only was she made a commander, which brought all the problems Clarke warned everyone about, but she’s also been kidnapped by Cadogan. Cadogan who tortured her so badly that she’s now completely paralyzed. All Clarke had wanted was to protect her, but she’d failed. 

Everything isn’t her fault though, she realizes as the memories start to appear. It wasn’t just the different Clarkes’ choices that created the alternate universes where they could have been happy. She didn’t do anything differently in this world. She was still sent to the ground with the 100, acted as an unofficial co-leader, killed the people in Mount Weather, fought ALIE in the City of Light, and she’d had to find a solution to save people from Praimfaya. 

Things started to change after the testing in Becca’s lab. She’d tested the nightblood on herself, but Abby hadn’t succeeded in destroying the machine to test the blood. Roan had stopped her mother, and they’d tested the blood. Seeing that it was a success, they’d opted to give everyone the nightblood. 

However, they didn’t have as much success as they’d hoped. Following the injection, Clarke had looked pale and weak, so even if the radiation wouldn’t kill her, it didn’t help to convince others that it was safe. The grounders were still wary of them, and without a Commander to order them to take it, it was impossible to unite all of them. To top it all off, they considered nightblood to be sacred and viewed the serum as a blasphemy. They organized a conclave and the winning clan went into the bunker. Clarke and Kane tried to dissuade them—explaining that without the technical knowledge that they had little to no chance of surviving. Roan had tried to rally his clan to the nightblood solution, but a divergent group denied his authority and only a few of the Azgeda people remained loyal to him, taking the serum. 

The first few months following Praimfaya were hard. Becca’s lab was big, but not big enough to comfortably accommodate hundreds of ill people. Luckily they didn’t suffer from lack of food as she did in her own universe, having prepared rations for months. 

After they’d recovered, she, Bellamy, Raven, Octavia, Miller, Monty, and Harper had taken the rover to see if anything had survived Praimfaya. It took them weeks, but they’d finally discovered Shadow Valley. They’d all moved there and worked on building a new life. 

Madi found them and after a few mishaps, Clarke was able to befriend her. She still became a mother to Madi, but she was not alone here—her friends and family were there to help her. They lived like this for six years, happily and with very few problems. Clarke could finally live without the constant weight of having to keep everyone alive on her shoulders. 

When the Eligius prisoners came down, a war broke out. But without all the tensions between the different sides, McCreary had been quickly defeated. Diyoza and her crew had chosen to stay and found their own place in the valley. This place is truly the paradise she dreamed of. 

“Well Clarke, you’re not even going to give me a compliment? This thing is gigantic—it’s probably some kind of shark!” exclaims Hatch, dragging her from her thoughts.

“Don’t fool yourself, man, it’s just a grouper,” a voice says from behind her. 

She turns to find Murphy coming toward them in an outfit she was definitely not expecting. She had gotten used to the classy way Murphy had dressed on Sanctum, and she couldn’t have imagined him wearing a traditional fisherman outfit if she’d tried. But here he is in a vest, overalls rolled up to his knees, and a fishing rod that was obviously designed by Raven. 

It’s a lot and it’s all that Clarke can do to keep from laughing, but it’s not even the strangest part—there is a little girl perched on his back. 

His daughter, she remembers. Emori gave birth to Felicia three years ago and grown into a toddler full of energy. 

“What?” he asks, looking at her with a smirk, “You didn’t think I knew the name of fish?”

“Yeah, Clarke,” Madi adds, jumping in to tease her, “you didn’t think Murphy could know things?”

“Well, I guess I never took you for the look-up-the-names-of-all-the-fish type,” she answers.

“What can I say? I’m a man full of surprises, Griffin.” 

“Don’t listen to him,” intervenes Hatch. “Emori is the one who learned all these things. She tries to teach everything to Felicia, so he’s bound to pick a few things.” 

“Come on, don’t ruin my vibe.”

“Don roun ma vape!” tries to imitate Felicia, which causes everyone to burst into laughter. 

Clarke spends about an hour with them, allowing herself to have fun for a while—and to beat them by catching more fish than everyone else. To which Murphy comments that it isn’t a competition or at least it’s not when he’s losing. 

Afterward, Madi and Clarke accompany Murphy to the mechanic’s workshop—while Hatch brings the fish back to camp—where they find Raven and Emori working on some kind of motorcycle. Madi and Clarke stay to chat for a while before Madi asks if they can go see Hope. Hope, Diyoza’s daughter here as well, was born only a few months ago. She’s the third baby to be born in the camp. First was Jordan, Monty and Harper’s son. Then Felicia one year later, and finally Hope a few months after Eligius arrived.

Not even one minute after they arrive at the cabin Madi is already taking Hope in her arms. Diyoza chuckles, both used to and grateful for it. Madi has made a habit of coming by to babysit the baby—whether they need her to or not. She’s told Clarke that she loves taking care of Hope and hearing about the stories of the old world that Diyoza is happy to tell her. This Clarke has heard some of them, but she doesn’t seem to understand everything. She suddenly recalls Diyoza telling her that she is basically her vodka aunt and that Roan is her wine mom, and even having visited some universes that resemble Diyoza’s time on Earth, she has no idea what any of it means. 

They talk for a bit and Octavia joins them a few moments later. Clarke smiles, happy to be amongst her friends. Apparently, this Clarke spent several nights drinking wine in the company of the two women. Octavia has grown a lot since Praimfaya—the years of peace have calmed her and Diyoza has helped her to deal with the darkness inside her. She spends almost all her time at the older woman’s place, helping to take care of Hope, and sometimes Clarke will join them. Diyoza knows what it’s like to have blood on her hands, and it helps to talk about it with someone who wasn’t there to experience the events. 

“I should go. I promised Harper and Miller I’d grab a beer with them once they were done with their guard duty,” Clarke says when Diyoza asks them to stay for dinner. It is in fact true, even if she had not specified the exact time when she’d meet them. She also recalls Diyoza’s cooking to be…special, so she’s not going to clarify the last part. 

“Can I stay to watch over Hope?” Madi asks.

“Is it okay if she stays?” Clarke turns to Diyoza.

“Yeah absolutely, I wanted to make her try my new recipe anyway.”

“Great, thank you, and have a lovely night!” Clarke says as she makes her way to the door. 

“So, kiddo, now let me tell you about sea shanty TikTok. You see…” 

It fuels her with so much joy to know that they formed a community in this reality. She loves Madi with all her heart, but during the six years that they’d spent alone on Earth, Clarke wanted to have her friends with her so much. And she knows that her daughter wanted company that wasn’t Clarke too. Looking around her, it is apparent that they have all of this and more here. 

As she makes her way to where she and her friends usually meet up, she passes Monty who is working on his crops. He tells her that he’ll be joining them later. As she walks in front of the doctor’s office she stops to give a quick hug to her mom. She also sees Luna and Macallan singing with a group of young people on a hill nearby. Everyone here is alive and happy, and while some part of her aches to be really part of it instead of just visiting it, another part of her feels a weird sense of fulfillment that a version of her and her friends get to experience that. 

Miller is the first to spot her and waves at her as she makes her way to where they’re lighting a fire in the center of a bunch of logs that they use for seats. 

“Hey Clarke,” Harper says, “So, is the princess ready to party?”

Clarke laughs at the nickname, one that brings her back to those first days on the ground. Everything seemed so much simpler back then. And in all honesty, even though she hated what the nickname meant, she liked when Bellamy used it. She kind of regrets that he hadn’t used it in her universe after he’d come back from space. In this universe, the nickname stuck, and her friends still use it to tease her. 

“Of course I am,” she answers, taking the glass of moonshine that Harper hands her. “I can be fun.” She winks. 

Taking time to talk to Miller and Harper is nice. She regrets how they grow apart in her own universe. They’ve been by her side since the dropship days, and yet the years apart and the responsibilities that weighed on them have always prevented them from having this kind of easy friendship. She loves them both, and she’s happy that they get to be friends who do more than just fight for their lives together. The three of them have a great time, and Clarke lets out a peal of hysterical laughter when Miller explains how he pranked Harper while they were on guard duty. As the evening goes on more people join them—Monty, Raven, Emori, Murphy. Her friends joining them is the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh look who decided to join us!” Miller exclaims as Octavia and Bellamy make their way over.

“Well, I was supposed to stay with Diyoza this evening, but I saw this guy here walk by the cabin and I decided to come with him to make sure he didn’t get lost. Since the directions are not written in a book I was scared he wouldn’t know where to go,” Octavia jokes, elbowing Bellamy in the ribs.

“Ha-ha, very funny. I was working,” Bellamy answered, rolling his eyes.

“What took you so long? Because I don’t remember school finishing that late in the evening,” Emori intervened, earning her a high-five from Murphy.

“I was researching tomorrow’s lesson. I want to add a new aspect to our lesson on Roman history that features the influence of the Greek mythology.”

“Nerd,” Raven says simply.

“As if you two can talk! You basically live in that workshop. If anything, you’re the nerds.”

“Ohhh counter-attack from Bellamy’s side, bringing the score to 1-1!” Murphy comments, cheering as if he was a sports reporter from those soccer matches she’d watched on the Ark with her dad.

Bellamy comes to sit next to her as Octavia takes his place fighting Raven and Emori on who is the biggest nerd.

“Hey,” he says, placing a quick kiss on her lips.

After all the universes she’s visited, one would think that she would be getting used to having Bellamy kiss her, but the truth is she can’t help but always wonder how it can be real. She guesses that after years of thinking that her love was unrequited, a few different universes isn’t enough to get past this feeling. 

Every reality where they’re together is just a painful reminder of what they could have been.

Every time she looks into his brown eyes she sees the life going out of them after she pulled the trigger. 

“Everything okay?” Bellamy asks.

“Yeah,” Clarke says, trying to contain her emotions, “I just…You know that I love you, right? I love you so much, Bellamy. So much that if we hadn’t been able to give the nightblood to anyone other than me, you would have been forced to go to space and I would be the only one remaining on Earth, and then I would call you every single day on a broken radio.”

“Well, someone has had too much moonshine,” Raven says, making all of their friends laugh.

It didn’t matter if it isn’t her Bellamy, it feels good to get this off of her chest. She’s loved him for years. And those radio calls she’d made had been a daily declaration to him. She should have told him that day in Sanctum when he asked her about it. But instead, she’d fled, too scared of the rejection she was so sure would come. 

She feels Bellamy hold tighten as he whispers in her ear. “I love you too.”

She stays quiet in Bellamy’s arms, watching her friends laugh. The warmth of the bonfire, of Bellamy’s arms, and of the easy happiness of the moment soothe her as she feels the familiar light-headedness and pulling sensation that will take her back to the anomaly. She closes her eyes and lets herself go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, if only humans on the 100 weren’t so bloodthirsty for war, am I right? 🙄 We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Julie on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/jouliedejoulaye/) & [Tumblr](https://clarkesplaylist.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you on Thursday for a new chapter!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memory does not alleviate her fear or soften the aftermath of adrenaline still pumping through her. But it makes her brave enough to grab onto her assailant's arm and squeeze. "Or what?" she asks. "You'll kill me?"
> 
> *
> 
> Clarke lets the anomaly lead her to a universe that she isn't sure she wants to visit, but she might be pleasantly surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 21 is here! We hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [kinetic-elaboration.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_stone/pseuds/elle_stone)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Miranda.](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Madison & Miranda are involved in The 100 Fic for BLM initative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

Clarke wishes she could have lived in that universe forever. Arguably the most peaceful years of her life were the ones spent in the Valley with Madi. No strict rules and expectations like her upbringing on the Ark and no war and violence like her time on the ground. The only thing that had been missing was Bellamy and her friends. In the universe she just saw a glimpse of, she had the best of both worlds. 

“I do love the universes where you get to see Shallow Valley filled with people and peace.” He has a wistful look on his face as if recalling memories. 

“You sound like someone who just watches movies all day, picking and choosing your favorite scenes from each.” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. 

“I mean...that’s an oversimplification but not entirely inaccurate.” 

“You know, Bellamy—my Bellamy—would kill for your job. Front seat to history, lecturing people when they stumble into your virtual office….it’d be his dream.” 

“Yeah, but then he’d have to see all of the ways humanity repeats the same violent cycles over and over again throughout time.” She thinks she hears a tinge of sadness in his voice—but Clarke doesn’t know if the anomaly can even feel emotions. Part of her wants to ask, but a larger part of her isn’t sure she wants the answer. 

So instead she turns her attention back to the walls. One catches her eye—what looks like the woods where she spent the months following the Mt. Weather massacre. An involuntary shiver runs down her spine. Clarke doesn’t regret the decision she made at Mt. Weather, but the innocent lives she stole still haunt her. And the depression she fell into after leaving Bellamy and the struggles she went through on her own with the Wanheda moniker like a brand to anyone around her...yeah, not a time she is particularly interested in reliving. 

“It’s interesting how places hold memories, emotions. For one person, a place might invoke nightmares. But for others, the start of a new beginning,” Bellamy’s voice interrupts her thoughts. 

“Is that your way of saying I should check out this universe?” 

He just shrugs in that annoying way her Bellamy would when he was challenging her. She gives him an unimpressed look but decides to take his word for it. __

_ I swear to god if I have to experience childbirth or death in this one… _

With an outstretched hand, she allows herself to fall into the darkness. 

* * *

She remembers these woods and these heavy layers of clothes. She might even say that she remembers this exact moment, except that there were so many of them during her months of exile. Here she is, standing quiet and still as stone, listening for unusual sounds in the wilderness. She can barely discern the light trickle of a stream over rocks, somewhere in the distance, but nothing else. Nothing but the eerie stillness of winter creeping in. Nevertheless, Clarke has the distinct sense that she is being watched.

She tells herself it's paranoia. But she can feel the hitch in her own breath as she takes a half-step back, a twig cracks sharply beneath her heel, and the quick and nervous beating of her pulse picks up. She knows a split-second early, and much too late, what is about to happen—

Just as she steps back, someone behind her steps forward, and suddenly there's an arm wrapped tight around her chest and a blade against her throat. She could scream. But she swallows down the ill-formed sound before it can escape, because the knife is pressed against her pulse point, and she knows that if she makes a move the sharp edge of it will sink in.

Her heart batters against her ribs, pounds against the blade.

"Don't move," a voice behind her warns, slow and quiet, right against Clarke's ear. She can feel the touch of the other's lips against her skin. The steady exhale of breath triggers a half-memory, of a body held close to her, a tentative kiss brushing across her mouth, a lingering kiss against her bottom lip.

The memory does not alleviate her fear or soften the aftermath of adrenaline still pumping through her. But it makes her brave enough to grab onto her assailant's arm and squeeze. "Or what?" she asks. "You'll kill me?"

Even to her own ear, she sounds like someone who's come too far and seen too much to still fear death.

The other person pushes her away as swiftly as she caught her. Clarke stumbles forward, barely catching herself from falling into the dirt and leaves. Then she turns. Anya is standing behind her, which is no surprise at all—Clarke recognized her voice. More than that, she recognized something else in her touch even before she spoke, something only this other Clarke truly knows.

What does surprise her is how different Anya looks now. She's scrubbed off her war paint and pulled her hair back into a simple braid. Instead of her Trikru clothes, she's wearing a pair of black pants and a blue shirt obviously taken from the Alpha Station stores, standard Ark-issue black boots, like the Guard wears, and a black jacket. For a moment, Clarke thinks the jacket is from the Guard too, but she's wrong. Obviously it's not. Anya would never wear another clan's insignia, especially not out in the woods.

Clarke has seen her in Ark clothes before, but only briefly: right after her surgery, when Camp Jaha had nothing else to give her to replace the sorry clothes she was wearing when they’d dragged her in. They were little more than dirt- and blood-stained rags by then.

The last time Clarke saw her, Anya was dressed as a warrior, still outfitted for a battle she'd never gotten to fight. Clarke remembers the moment like a faint taste on the back of her tongue. She hugged Bellamy goodbye outside the Camp Jaha gate, and over his shoulder, she saw Anya, as defeated as she'd ever looked, watching her steadily and without blinking.

For a long while, Clarke doesn't speak, only rubs faintly at the spot where the knife blade touched her neck. It haunts her like phantom pain, though she can tell that not even the thinnest wound has been left in its wake.

Anya sticks her knife back in the holster she's wearing on her leg. She doesn't say a word, but she lets her gaze flick down Clarke's body, then back up. The look is tinged with such deep disdain and judgment that Clarke briefly wonders how she held herself back from drawing the knife blade across Clarke's throat.

"Nice outfit," Clarke says.

As she'd hoped, Anya smiles thinly. Like her glance a moment before, the expression would read to anyone who did not know her as pure scorn. But Clarke knows better. Anya doesn't smile, thin or not, for just anyone.

"I can't say the same for you," she answers. "Did you trade for it at Niylah's?"

Immediately, like prey attuned to a nearby hunter’s step, Clarke feels a wary nervousness wash over her. The movements of her fingers still. Her spine stiffens. The feeling lasts only a moment, but she knows that Anya saw it in her eyes.

She tilts up her chin, defiant. "Have you been following me?"

"For a while," Anya admits. "But that's not how I know. There are only so many places to trade around here." She takes a slow step forward, letting the leaves crunch beneath her feet, loud enough to make Clarke wince. "You don't know these woods like I do, Sky Girl."

_ And you don't know the Ark like I do. _

She could say it—the words are there, barely held back behind the stubborn set of her mouth—but it wouldn't matter. They're not on the Ark now. Even if they were in Arkadia, Anya's lived there longer now than this version of Clarke did. Whatever rules and customs govern that settlement, they must already be different than what governed in the sky.

So maybe Anya does have every advantage over her now.

"Why are you here?" she asks instead. "There's a bounty on your head, the same as Lincoln. If you were found out here—"

"If I were found out here without your people to protect me, I'd be dead," Anya finishes. "And if you were found by anyone but me, you'd be worse than dead. I thought I taught you something about covering your tracks but apparently not. You've only survived out here for a whole month on sheer luck."

The insult, spit out like poison from between Anya's teeth, means nothing to Clarke because she knows it isn't true. She did learn, first during their escape from Mount Weather, and then later, in so many subtle ways, as the combined Coalition and Skaikru army made its way toward the Mountain again. Clarke may have been representing her people, working side by side with Lexa, addressing warriors with grand speeches, making plans—but Anya was her guide through it all. Every lesson was whispered, if she was lucky, thrown out as an offhand insult if she was not. She gathered each one like a gift given.

"If everyone is after me and I'm still here," Clarke answers, "then I must have a lot of luck."

She stresses the word  _ luck _ both to show that she means  _ skill _ , and as a challenge. Anya has stepped closer to her now and Clarke wants her closer still. She feels all the anger in her, and she knows what's underneath: worry and stubborn need.

The half-memory of their first kiss plays out again in her mind and this time becomes whole. They were in TonDC on the first night of the summit. The Mountain seemed to loom above them. No one was asleep, but the village was quiet, and they sat on Anya's bed, Anya's fingers slowly weaving a warrior's braid in Clarke’s hair. Clarke let her hand rest on Anya's leg, let them both pretend it was an accident even though it was not, and when she turned abruptly, they found themselves nose to nose.

"Come on," Anya says, with sudden vehemence, shouldering her way past Clarke and deeper into the woods again.

"You're just assuming I'm coming with you?" Despite her annoyance, she does follow, if only to keep Anya from getting the last word.

"Where else would you go?"

"Not back to—to Camp Jaha." Might not be Arkadia yet. And even if it is, this other Clarke wouldn't know. Anya doesn't seem to notice the near slip.

"Were you not listening when I said that if you're caught, you'll be worse than dead? Keep up, Sky Girl."

She has to quicken her pace just to match Anya's stride, but she doesn't concede. "Then I won't get caught." She's earned this confidence: she managed three months in her own time before Roan found her.

"You  _ have _ been caught. By me. Your people have even less knowledge of these woods than you. You can evade them. But not the bounty hunters from the twelve clans. Not Azgeda."

Clarke hesitates and briefly falls behind again. She doesn't need to ask the question, but to keep up appearances, she does: "What does Azgeda have to do with this?"

Anya sighs, frustrated and impatient. "You're not Clarke of Skaikru anymore. You defeated the Mountain when not even the Commander could. You're the Commander of Death now. Wanheda. The greatest power on Earth."

"That's—"

"Not what happened. I know. Monty's shown me your tech. He explained what you did. I know it wasn't magic or unexplainable power that brought the Mountain down. But it doesn't matter what I know or what you know. You're a resource now, a bounty. So get used to it."

"And what? Is that why my people sent you? To get the power of...of Wanheda for themselves?"

Anya scoffs, but the suggestion obviously bothers her more than the dismissive sound implies, because she stops in her tracks and turns silently on her heel. Clarke stops short as well. Somehow, she has learned to read every subtle expression on Anya’s face: annoyance, frustration, arrogance—and the stubborn persistence underneath. Maybe something like an apology in the softening around her eyes.

"Your people didn't send me," Anya says. She pitches her voice low, and only this keeps her words from sounding like an insult.  _ Obviously. As if they would. _ "Only Bellamy and Raven know I'm here. I came for you." 

The confession catches Clarke off-guard. She hesitates. "Why?"

Anya opens her mouth, then stops. Whatever veil had briefly lifted, she has drawn it closed again. "Because you saved my life," she answers. "Twice. When you helped me escape from the Mountain and after your people shot me—"

"That was my mother."

Anya shakes her head, but the gesture is little more than a short jerk. "You told them I was a friend. So I'm being a friend."

_ And any more than that...? _ Clarke wonders before she can stop herself. At least she doesn’t speak the thought aloud. Anya has already started walking again, and if Clarke doesn't pick up her pace, she'll easily be left behind once more.

* * *

Clarke pretends to be shocked when she sees Arkadia again. The electric fence has grown into a proper wall, with a gate at the front and a new sign above, proclaiming a new name. The guards stare down at them impassively from the watchtower, confer briefly, and then open the door. Anya ignores them as she walks in, while Clarke eyes their holstered weapons with wariness.

Behind the gate, Clarke sees the beginnings of new outbuildings, a half-built shower, and a new fire pit. Bellamy and Octavia are talking quietly together by the entrance to Alpha Station. She makes no attempt to get their attention. But Bellamy must notice her out of the corner of his eye because he stops mid-sentence, hands still on his hips as he half-turns to look at her. Clarke pushes her matted, red hair from her face so that he can see her, really see her again, and so that she herself can feel seen. Everything else seems faded and distant when his gaze meets hers. Time itself slows.

"So Wanheda has graced us with her presence," Octavia mumbles, still loud enough to be heard.

Bellamy ignores her. He strides across the dirt with such purpose in his step and such a set, determined expression on his face that Clarke instinctively braces herself for impact. And then before she can prepare, his arms are around her, and he's holding her so tightly that she can barely breathe.

Not all the camp is ready to welcome Wanheda home. Even some of the hundred eye her cautiously at dinner as she sits in her new Ark-issued clothes, her still-dyed hair falling to either side of her face, and pokes at the food on her plate. She hasn’t eaten this much at one time in weeks. Focusing on the simple mechanics of it is easier than thinking about Bellamy on her left and Anya on her right, or listening to the conversation around her, which seems to come to her from far away.

She has not made a home here, as she did in Eden in the last universe. But at least her own life has given her some experience with feeling herself set apart.

That night, she sits out by the fire pit and stares at the flames, the crack and spit of the blaze hypnotizing her. When she watches the stray embers float off into the night and disappear, she doesn't have to think. She knows the rest of the camp is still up from the sounds that it makes: Guards’ footsteps tramping around the periphery, conversations by the outbuildings, vague metallic clanging from the inside of the ship. But it takes her a moment to recognize that a certain set of footsteps is walking directly toward her. Even when she realizes it's him, she barely looks up.

"Are you sure you want to be seen sitting next to Wanheda?" she asks, glancing at Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. She sounds bitter, and that's never how she wants to be with him, but she doesn't know what else to say. She can't let him speak first. He's settled himself down on the opposite end of the same log, close enough to talk but still pointedly distant.

"Wanheda," he echoes as if he thought the word was a good joke. He's watching the fire too. The corner of his mouth is curled, the rest of his expression humorless. "No one here cares about that."

"Octavia did."

Bellamy grunts. "Octavia—she still thinks she's a Grounder. You're not a threat to the camp, Clarke."

She hears the hesitation after his sister's name. He could say more, but he doesn't have the words. Even if he did, he wouldn't want to share with Clarke. Not now.

"I am," she answers. "If there really is a bounty on my head." The realization is not new but it settles deeply in her chest when she says the words aloud. Why did she come back if she knew what danger she'd bring? Why did her other self come back? When she tries to remember, all she can understand is that she'd followed Anya home out of a sense of stubbornness and misplaced pride—and something else. Homesickness, perhaps, or just relief.

Bellamy is grinding the heel of his boot into the dirt. "That's not why—"

He starts, loud and angry, then cuts himself off without warning. Maybe he feels, as she does, that they need to keep their voices quieter than the crackle and snap of the flames.

"The camp has changed since you left," he says instead, so low this time that the words sound wrung from him.

"I saw." She tries to smile. "Arkadia."

"And we've changed," he continues, ignoring her, still not looking at her. "The hundred. This isn't the dropship camp anymore. It's not our camp anymore."

Clarke has nothing to say. When she tries to speak, no words come. She imagines herself reaching out and curling her hand around his, the comfort of skin warming against skin—but he's put this space between them on purpose. And he came out to sit with her on purpose. If he wanted to say his piece and that's all, she can give that to him.

Could it have been their camp if she had stayed? She knows well enough by now that even small choices can reverberate in unexpected ways.

"You've missed a lot," Bellamy says, after a long while. "We can't just pretend you didn't."

"I know," she answers. She thinks he means  _ we _ like  _ Arkadia _ or  _ the hundred _ , but maybe he also means  _ me and you _ .

Bellamy is holding his own fist in his hand, rubbing his fingers against his knuckles. When she doesn't say anything more, he looks at her again. She can see the hard set of his expression in the campfire glow, and she realizes for the first time that he did come out here to fight. Now he sees that there’s no fight in her, and he softens, too. “But you’re here now,” he adds. “Not like we're going to kick you out."

"I hope not." She smiles again, a weak but genuine smile. "Not after you spent so much time finding me."

"So much time not finding you," Bellamy corrects. His gaze jumps past Clarke's shoulder, to something in the shadows at her back. His own smile is rueful and half-formed, like a code that Clarke can't break, a secret he's exchanging with someone she can't see. "Unlike her."

Clarke turns, and in the same moment, Anya steps from the darkness and into the outer edges of the firelight. She still seems like a stranger in her new clothes. Clarke wonders how long she's been waiting there and watching.

Bellamy doesn't say a word to her or to Clarke, only nods once in Anya's direction, but as he stands up again, he rests his hand on Clarke's shoulder and gives it a hard squeeze. She has no time to answer. But she does watch him as he goes.

When Anya sits down on the log with her, she settles closer than Bellamy did. The distance they kept between them looms larger in contrast to this intimacy: Anya's knee bumping against her knee, Anya's steady gaze on her.

"If they didn't want me back," Clarke asks, "why did you bother trying to find me?"

Anya frowns.  _ Another stupid Sky Girl question _ . "They did. They sent out scouting parties to look for you, even though they're terrified of the Commander's army. Like I told you before—" She narrows her eyes. "They're just bad at it."

Clarke opens her mouth to argue, though she has no idea what she'll actually say: that they don't seem to have missed her, that she's brought danger to the camp, that Anya should have left her alone. Anya cuts her off before she can speak.

"Why did you really leave? Don't tell me it was for their benefit." At the word  _ their _ , she flicks her gaze toward the ship, as if taking in the whole camp with one look. "A competition for Wanheda benefits your people least of all.” She pauses, a half-moment. “I thought it might be out of guilt. But I'd hoped you were stronger than that."

Clarke bites down hard on her bottom lip, keeping her mouth a thin and impassive line. As if Anya, who wears her own kill marks proudly—all those kills for the benefit of a people who now want her dead—should sit here and lecture her about guilt. It's an infuriating notion. If she says anything at all, she won't be able to stop herself from saying too much. She won't be able to stop herself from showing emotion that will only reveal how weak she is yet again.

So she doesn't answer, and Anya adds, "The Mountain is better off gone."

"How did you find out about Wanheda?" Clarke asks. She can't talk about the Mountain. In her own life, that particular guilt has faded and become easier to bear, but in this one, it is raw like an open wound. She will not let Anya or anyone poke and prod at it. "If it's Grounder gossip and the camp's on lockdown, how did you know?"

At least the question catches her slightly off guard. For a moment, she hesitates. Then she answers, "I still have my people on the outside. Trikru protects its own, no matter what the Commander says."

Indra, then. She wouldn't abandon both Lincoln and Anya in this life, any more than she abandoned Lincoln in Clarke's time. Is she friends with Kane already too?

Rather than let herself get distracted, Clarke latches on to the deep note of bitterness in Anya's voice. It's well-earned. She put herself on the line for the alliance more than anybody else, leveraged her relationship with Lexa to create the new coalition army, and then threw everything away to stand with the Sky People at Mount Weather after Lexa withdrew. But if Anya stayed behind only in a fit of momentary anger, she shows no sign of regret now. If anything, Clarke senses only a slow-simmering rage.

"Who else knows?" Clarke asks.

"Your leaders. Your mother, Kane, Bellamy. I'm trying to tell  _ you _ , Clarke—" She leans in closer, her voice dropping so that Clarke can barely hear it over the flames. "Azgeda wants the Coalition throne. They sense weakness. Your people are naive enough to talk of peace, but they need to be preparing for battle."

"Battle," Clarke spits before she can stop herself—as if the word left a disgusting taste in her mouth. How many times, and in how many lives, has she prepared for battle? How many wars has she had to fight? This night should be a homecoming for her, but just like the first time she brought herself back to the Arkadia gate, she only finds herself getting ready to face yet another enemy.

"Is everything in this life a battle?" she asks. She means the question to sound frustrated and angry, but instead, it comes out as a plea.

She expects Anya will tell her that it is, that it always has been and always will be.

Instead, she grabs Clarke by the front of her jacket and yanks her forward, so roughly and so abruptly that Clarke has to rest her hand on Anya's leg for balance. They are almost nose to nose again. The gesture that felt rough a moment ago now feels gentle, no longer a threat but a promise.

"Not us," Anya answers. Her voice is soft and quiet, her breath warm against Clarke's cheek.

Clarke leans in for the kiss first because she can already feel that distinct tugging at the back of her mind. She fights the dizziness as long as she can. Anya's hand slides up to rest against her neck, as she tangles her fingers desperately in Anya's hair, trying to hold on to her. But still, the sense of vertigo is growing.

"Are you okay?" she hears Anya ask, an honest concern in her tone. Even that question sounds distant now. Everything about this world feels distant. She's being pulled away from this life, as inevitably as all the others, and in another second, she is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anya! Another face we would’ve loved to have seen more of! We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow kinetic-elaboration on [Tumblr](https://kinetic-elaboration.tumblr.com/) and Miranda on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/sparklyfairymira/) & [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/sparklyfairymi1)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you Sunday for a new chapter!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You probably think I’m crazy.” She gives him a wry smile when he stays quiet, assessing her from across the room. 
> 
> “Not at all. It’s just interesting—the combination of your emotions with the ones you feel when experiencing the other universes. You and Bellamy have...a complicated relationship.”
> 
> *
> 
> Clarke finds herself face-to-face with someone that she always wishes she'd had more time with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re onto chapter 22. We hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Pris.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheWallflowers/pseuds/QueenoftheWallflowers)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Jo.](https://bookwormforalways.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Pris and Mads are involved in The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

“Why are you scowling?” Bellamy’s voice breaks through her thoughts as she comes back to herself. She wasn’t even aware that she was scowling to begin with, and she cocks an eyebrow at him. 

“Nice to see you, too.” 

“Answer the question, Clarke.” 

He seems genuinely curious to know, as if anomaly Bellamy is legitimately confused by her reaction to the universe. She has to think it over, what she’s feeling and what bothered her about that universe. That version of Clarke was on a path to happiness. There was a way forward with the other clans if Anya was on their side. So why does she feel like something was missing? 

She sighs, understanding dawning on her. Something  _ was _ missing. 

“I guess after so many universes where Bellamy and I repair the damage in our relationship or avoid it altogether…it just feels off to visit universes where that distance is still there.” Anomaly Bellamy doesn’t say anything, and she continues. “In that universe, there will always be a separation between us. Just like in the universe where we never met. Just like in the universe where he left us for Trikru. And the Clarkes that live in those universes don’t feel how  _ wrong _ it is, for that distance to be there. But I do, and it’s just...weird to be trapped in a body that thinks it’s happy while you still know that something is and always will be missing, you know?” 

Clarke recognizes that she’s rambling at this point, but talking it out makes it make more sense in her head. Yet another way Bellamy has always been there for her—she couldn’t do this with just anyone. It was something saved for late nights looking up at the stars or private strategy meetings in tents or hallways with her Bellamy. And even if the anomaly isn’t really him… she feels like she can talk to him. 

“You probably think I’m crazy.” She gives him a wry smile when he stays quiet, assessing her from across the room. 

“Not at all. It’s just interesting—the combination of your emotions with the ones you feel when experiencing the other universes. You and Bellamy have...a complicated relationship.” 

A snort escapes her before she can stop it. “You could say that.” 

She turns to study the walls, looking for her next universe. When she sees strong arms wrapped around her and a contented smile on her own face, she reaches out for it. She yearns for that closeness, smiling to herself as she falls into a reality where she can have it. 

* * *

The arms around her are bigger, more muscular than Anya's slender-but-strong arms. Familiar too—she's been to too many other timelines to not recognize these arms.

And at some point, Clarke figures she’d get used to waking up in Bellamy's arms because it happens so often. But she also doesn't think she ever can because it's something so brief that she gets to experience. Her Bellamy is dead, so there never is and never will be any waking up in his arms—there are no kisses to her shoulder or to her temple, no hand stroking her hair or her spine.

Not like this.

Bellamy's got an arm around her waist, his fingers under her tank, and stroking her lower back while his other hand is above their heads playing with her hair. 

She wishes she could stay here forever, simply stay in his arms, and spend this time here with just Bellamy. 

He smiles when he sees that she's awake, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

"Morning, Princess."

She hums and curls closer to Bellamy, wanting to bask in their tent, to bask in his presence and warmth and he chuckles into her hair, "I know, I know. Wish we could stay here forever. But I don't think your dad will like that."

_ I don't think your dad would like that. _

Clarke's eyes shoot open and her heart is pounding and all traces of sleep and wanting to stay in bed with Bellamy is gone.

Her father...he's alive?

He's alive and on the ground?

She sits up and swings her legs out of bed, pulling her pants on, and ignoring Bellamy who's calling her name in confusion, worry lacing his tone.

She snags a blue shirt laying on the ground and pulls it on, it's too big so it's obviously Bellamy's shirt but she needs to see her dad.

She rushes out of the tent. Bellamy, fumbling as he tries to put his pants on, calls out to her. "Clarke!"

She ignores him and scans the clearing, looking for him—for her dad.

Miller, Raven, Finn, Fox, Octavia, Miles, Wells—Wells?

She freezes at the sight of her old friend, who's smiling at Raven while the brunette gestures about something, but then her eyes land on the man next to him.

Her dad.

She takes him in—his hair is a bit longer, and he has a few more wrinkles, but he’s alive.

He’s alive and happy and laughing with Wells and Raven and she misses him so much, it hurts. 

She takes off at a run, not caring who's looking at her or who is in her way.  "Dad!"

Jake Griffin turns around and his eyes widen when he sees her barreling toward him.

He barely has any time to brace himself before she throws herself into his arms. He stumbles backward before his arms wrap around her tightly and she feels a few tears leak out of her eyes.

She misses him so much.

Losing her father was a loss she never got over and the one that hurt the most.

"Sweetheart?"

"Clarke?"

She pulls away from her father and turns her head to face Bellamy. He's shirtless, his hair a mess and he looks distressed.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

Clarke turns back to her father, concern written all over his face.

How can she possibly tell him that she misses him so much? Misses him because he's dead?

How can she tell him that he's dead in her world and all she wants is a hug from her father, to curl up in the safety of his arms the way she did when she was a little girl?

"Sweetheart?"

Clarke forces herself to swallow back her tears and nods. "Yeah, dad I had a nightmare that you were floated."

Jake's eyes soften and he grips her shoulders, pulling her into his arms, and squeezing her tightly. "I'm right here, I'm alive and I'm never leaving you."

Clarke wants to ask him how he can make such a promise—how can he promise not to leave her when they are on the ground and the ground has brought her nothing but pain? The closest she got to happiness were a few fleeting moments scattered here and there and then the time she was with Madi—and even then a part of her had felt like it was missing something.

But she doesn't say that and instead, she nods. Her father smiles as he pulls away from her and then a shout calls his attention away. 

From the sounds of it, it’s Monty, Jasper, and Murphy. Then Raven is screaming, running past them.

"Make sure she eats something Bellamy!"

Clarke watches as her father hurries off towards the source of chaos. And she starts to head over there because what if someone needs her medical knowledge or her leadership, but Bellamy steps behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her towards his chest. He rests his chin on her head and rocks her side to side while his other hand rubs her arm. Despite the fact that he's shirtless, he's warm, radiating heat.

“We need to-”

“Your dad’s got this.” Clarke huffs but he tightens his arms around her, moving her towards their tent. "You should have told me about it."

She feels a pang of guilt at how worried he sounds. "You were sleeping peacefully, I didn't want to wake you. Fell back to sleep in your arms"

Regardless of what universe they are in, she's a firm believer that Bellamy needs all the rest he can get.

He presses a kiss to her hair, "You heard your dad, let's go get you something to eat. Then we can save the world."

* * *

It feels like a dream, seeing her father and her Bellamy interact with each other.

She won't ever admit it out loud but sometimes she’d thought about what her father would think of Bellamy. She wondered if he would approve of him—if Jake would see Bellamy’s kind heart and know that he’s a good man.

She always thought that they would get along, and seeing them smile and laugh as they work together proves that she’d been right.

They move together with an ease that signifies that there is trust between them. Jake listens to Bellamy, to both of them, when it comes to leading the camp. He doesn’t treat them like children—understanding that if they are old enough to be sent down to die, they are old enough to have a say in their own lives and how to best survive. 

Besides considering the fact that she’d woken up in Bellamy's tent and her father had not blinked, she has no doubt that he is aware of whatever is going on between them.

She runs a hand through her hair as she watches her father clasp Bellamy's shoulder and the way Bellamy nods at him, a smile on his face.

Clarke remembers how Bellamy was with Kane, the small glances at him, always seeking his approval.He's the same way with her father—but unlike Marcus, who kept his emotions close to his chest, her father is more affectionate with Bellamy.A touch to his back, a squeeze of his shoulder, "a good job son", praising him, making him feel loved, and Bellamy soaks it all up. It makes her smile, the man she loves being accepted by the man who loves her and raised her. 

It’s bittersweet. This is all she has ever wanted—her father and Bellamy alive and happy, and getting along in a way that Bellamy and her mother never did. But her Bellamy never got to meet her father. The similarities between them are striking—her father puts others before himself, and Bellamy has put his sister, her, and his people's safety before his own. Her father died to save them all and Bellamy died to save them all—to save her. 

She swallows, feeling the tell-tale sign of tears, and forces them away. She runs a hand through her hair, looking up to watch as her father passes Bellamy the gun before he looks up to meet her eyes.

_ "Bellamy's gone. Radio's gone." _

_ Jake's face was grim as he nodded at Finn, Octavia, and Wells, "Take Raven to camp—Clarke and I will find Bellamy." _

_ Raven opened her mouth to argue but Finn could tell from Jake's face that he wasn’t having any of it and he led her away, towards camp, and more importantly away from Jake and Clarke and wherever Bellamy was. _

_ "Let's go, I’m sure you are hungry. You should get your head, leg, checked out. Octavia’s been training under Clarke so this is good practice."  _

_ Octavia nodded and Wells turned to take one last look at Jake and Clarke, the two blondes talking. _

_ "Dad, why would Bellamy take the radio?” _

_ "Let's go find out." _

_ They took off at a jog, dashing through the forest in search of the older boy. _

_ They find Bellamy standing with his boots near the edge of the water, radio in his hand, and his arm raised, prepared to throw the radio. _

_ "Bellamy Blake!" Her father's voice was booming, authoritative, and Bellamy spun around, eyes wide and arm dropping to his side. _

_ They skidded to a stop in front of him. Bellamy's eyes were wide and darting everywhere—he looked like a cornered animal.  _

_ Jake held his hands up calmly. "You don't want to do this." _

_ Clarke winced, she knew that her father’s choice of words wasn’t going to go over well with Bellamy. _

_ Ever since they’d come down from the Ark and they’d discovered that her father was alive, Bellamy had been on edge. She wasn’t sure what it was about her father that made Bellamy tense up, but she knew that Bellamy was wary of him. He listened to him—at least to an extent—but his walls were up high and Clarke had no idea how to get past them.  _

_ But she wanted to. Octavia had told her stories about the kind brother who’d told her stories and taken care of her growing up, done everything he could to protect her, who when he was younger cried when he had to hide her under the floor. Bellamy, who had saved her from falling into the pit and went as far as carrying her back into camp, much to Wells and Finn's protests. Jake had thanked him and Bellamy's ears had turned red, obviously embarrassed.  _

_ Bellamy seemed to respect Jake—respect him enough to call him sir—but also disliked him enough to challenge both him and Clarke. Jake, of course, took Bellamy’s challenges in stride. _

_ "I knew your mother." _

_ Bellamy tensed, anger and disgust spreading across his face. "Why am I not surprised? You Alpha men are all the same. What did my mother ask you for?" he spit it out, causing Clarke to gasp but Jake held up his hands. _

_ "Nothing. She fixed a couple of Clarke's dresses for me, a few of my coats. She was a good woman. She talked about you a lot—about how smart you are, how much you loved history and reading." He took a few steps towards Bellamy. "She was really proud of you, said you were a good kid—kind, helpful, and that you were good with a thread and needle." _

_ That seemed to break Bellamy and Clarke watched Bellamy’s face twist in hurt and regret. “She wouldn’t be proud of me if she could see me now. I’m a monster.” _

_ Clarke covered her mouth, trying to hide her sobs. She had never seen the older boy look so vulnerable. Arrogant? Yes. Scared? Yes. But never vulnerable. Bellamy looked up at Jake as he stepped closer, reaching out to grasp his shoulders.  _

_ “You are not a monster, Bellamy Blake.” _

_ “I—I did something bad.” _

_ “We’ve all done bad things. What matters is what we do now to make up for it.” Jake wrapped his hands around the radio, gently pulling it out of Bellamy’s hands, and tossed it to Clarke. _

_ Jake grabbed Bellamy by the shoulder, the two of them whispering, and Clarke wasn’t sure what was said between them but after that moment Bellamy had changed. He was lighter, his respect for Jake growing. Of course, he and Clarke still butted heads but it was different—it was less about trying to undermine her and more about challenging her to think differently. _

Clarke studies the map in front of her as her father explains the hunting trip for tomorrow. She recognizes her artwork, the familiar swoops of mountains and the waves for rivers, and Bellamy’s writing marking places on the map—Mount Weather, Lincoln’s cave, the car, the bunker, and a few hot springs. 

It’s hard to believe that they have been down here for a few months and are all still alive. That they made it through the winter.

The camp is bursting with life—the fence is up and they are well-fed, better than they ever were on the Ark.

They have peace with Anya and Trikru, with the ambassador having had sent them furs and people to help build cabins. It’s a slow process—the mess hall and an infirmary are the first priority for them, they had no issue spending the winter crammed into the dropship but now it’s spring and the tents are scattered outside as they breathe in the air that was once destined to kill them and as they build a new home, a better, safer home, a place where they belong when they were cast out to die from what they once called home.

_ “Stop being so stubborn!” _

_ “Me? You’re being pigheaded!” _

_ “Building an infirmary and a separate cabin is logical!” _

_ “I don’t need a cabin.” _

_ “I swear if you suggest that you sleep in the-” _

_ “It makes perfect sense! I’m the only doctor and I need to be there in case anyone needs me.” _

_ “You won’t sleep. You will spend all day and night taking care of others and not take care of yourself.” _

_ “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” _

_ Bellamy stepped back, visibly hurt and Clarke felt a wave of guilt. _

_ She knew that Bellamy didn’t hear her say anyone—all he heard was her say that she didn’t need him.  _

_ Bellamy spun on his heel, walking out of the tent as Clarke sunk down onto the chair, running a hand through her blonde tangled curls. They fight sure, but they hadn’t had a fight like this in ages, it left her off balance and made her heart hurt a bit but she wasn’t sure why. They were co-leaders, they didn’t always agree with how things work at the dropship but this wasn’t a dropship matter, this was laced with a more personal reason. _

_ Jake patted her back. “You shouldn’t be so hard on him” _

_ “He’s being ridiculous—you know I’m right, it makes sense. I need to be where people can find me in case of an emergency.” _

_ “You also need a place to rest, a place where you can be safe and just be Clarke—not Doctor Clarke and not leader Clarke.” _

_ “I can’t remember the last time I was just Clarke.” _

_ Jake was quiet and Clarke looked up to see her father was looking outside. They can hear Bellamy ordering Wells and Murphy to come with him hunting, Clarke knew that Harper and Roma would go along with them—they enjoyed the chance to run for a bit. “I do. You laugh and smile more around him. He cares a lot about you, about everything. He’s all heart.” _

_ “And I’m all head?” _

_ “Yes, it's a good balance. But Clarke, caring and love, doesn’t make you weak.” _

_ Clarke spotted the flowers Bellamy had brought her. He had claimed that they were supposed to have some kind of medical properties, but according to Wells and Monty, they don’t. Now Clarke wondered if Bellamy knew that and had just wanted to get her flowers. How many other gestures had he disguised as reasonable—good for the camp—that actually had a personal, heart-filled sentiment behind them? _

_ “Oh.” _

_ “You could do worse.” Jake sounded amused and Clarke shot him a look. _

_ “Don’t most fathers not want their little girl to date a delinquent?”  _

_ He laughed. “Sweetheart, we are all delinquents. But Bellamy, he’s a good man. He loves a lot. He cares about you. I couldn’t have picked a better man.” _

_ Clarke squeezed his hand and stood up, “I guess I should apologize to Bellamy and talk to him.” _

_ “Probably, I mean he does want to build you a house.” _

That house is nearly completed, the two of them coming to a compromise that he can build her a house but it’s for them and that they build a small room in the infirmary just in case of quarantine or an emergency where someone needs to stay and keep watch. 

Clarke sits next to Bellamy at the campfire, his arm around her shoulders, fingers playing with the ends of her hair, as she watches Wells and Charlotte laugh—the two of them whispering. It makes her heart ache—is that what things would have been like if Wells never died? Would Charlotte have conquered her demons another way? Miller’s hanging over Monty’s shoulder as Jasper’s taking a swig of moonshine, and Harper and Monroe are holding hands, they all look happy. 

Her father is sitting a bit apart from them, some of the younger kids sitting at his feet as he strums a crudely-made guitar. Clarke rests her head on Bellamy’s shoulder as she lets her father’s music flow over her, her gaze on the fire.

She feels the familiar tug and closes her eyes, not wanting to see her father disappear before her eyes again. She feels the press of Bellamy’s lips on her hair and hears the last of her father’s voice as she leaves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Bellamy bonding? I want it. 😭 We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Make sure to follow Pris on [Tumblr](https://queen-of-the-wallflowers15.tumblr.com)& [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Bi_Bellamy). 
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you Tuesday for a new chapter!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s easy for Clarke to get lost in the thrill of being on a first date, something she never really experienced in her own universe. Dating on the Ark was vastly different, and once she got to the ground and had to start fighting to survive, going on anything resembling a date was nowhere near the front of her mind. 
> 
> Sure she has the memories of this Clarke going on other first dates over the years, but that doesn’t hold a candle to actually experiencing it. 
> 
> Even if it is, in reality, just another memory.
> 
> *
> 
> Clarke visits another universe and gets to experience something she never has before—her first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 23 is here! We hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Gilly.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellybean96/pseuds/Jellybean96)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Leah.](https://nakey-cats-take-bathsss.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Mads is involved in The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

Her dad is looking back at her when she opens her eyes, back in her own body. And she can’t explain why, but just looking at him—knowing it’s not really him—makes tears well up. 

She blinks, trying to rein them back in. She’s fine, it’s fine, everything is  _ fine, dammit.  _ But the tears don’t stop. The first one falls, her lip quivering, and it’s like the dam breaks. Tears stream down her face, and her dad—the anomaly’s manifestation of her dad—looks at her with sympathy in his eyes. 

“Oh, Clarke.” He doesn’t hesitate to wrap her in a hug, pulling her into his chest. And she can feel his hand rubbing circles on her back just like he did when she was a kid, and she can hear the soothing way he tells her it’s okay. But he doesn’t smell like her dad and his sweater isn’t quite as soft against her cheek. It’s just a reminder that he’s not really here, and that makes her cry harder. 

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles between sobs. She’s embarrassed, not wanting to be a blubbering mess. But she can’t seem to stop. 

“It’s okay. Let it out.” 

And she does. Clarke cries until her eyes are puffy and there’s a sizable damp spot on his sweater from her tears and snot. By the time she steps away from him to wipe her cheeks and nose, she feels a little numb. 

“I miss you...him,” she admits, more to herself than to the anomaly. 

“I know you do.” 

It’s been so long since she’s really thought about his death. She isn’t sure she ever really even processed the fact that her dad was gone. There’d been no point to mourning when she was in the Sky Box—she thought she’d be joining him when she turned 18. And when she was sent to Earth, she spent her time pissed at Wells and then her mother for his death. And then suddenly Wells was dead. And then Charlotte. And then Riley. And then, and then, and then. 

It’s almost like she got used to the hole that he left. It never went away, but it was an old wound. Stable. And she’s been busy patching up a new trauma every other day it seems, so she just never got around to really letting herself heal. 

“Transcendence. Would I still miss my dad?” she asks, looking up at the person wearing his face. His eyes are kind, with those same crinkles at the corner of his eyes. 

“It’s a different state of being. You have no wants, no needs. It’s...peaceful,” he explains. 

Peaceful. She likes the sound of that. Maybe transcendence was the better choice. It’s what they’ve been fighting so damn hard for, right? Peace, contentment, the end of all the violence… 

There’s a voice in the back of her mind telling her there must be some cosmic catch to it like the City of Light, but she tries not to give it much stock. She has trust issues, but it’s not like the anomaly has been wrong yet. 

Clarke files the thought away for later. A decision doesn’t have to be made yet—she’s got time. 

“So, where should I go next?” she asks, trying to sound lighter as they start to walk down the hallway toward the mess hall in Alpha Station. She isn’t sure she accomplishes it, but the anomaly doesn’t comment. 

“Maybe something a little more light-hearted?” 

She smiles, nodding. And he turns to the nearest wall, sorting through universes again. 

“If you can move where the pictures are on the walls, why are we always on a walking tour?” 

“The journey, Kiddo. It’s always about the journey.” She almost calls him on the cryptic response, but then he’s found what he must have been looking for. 

He motions for her to reach out, pushing the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows in a move that is so much like her dad. Wanting to avoid another onslaught of emotions, she shakes her head and focuses on the picture in front of her as her hand skims the wall. 

And then she’s falling. 

* * *

Eyes flying open, Clarke takes a second to breathe and just let herself get acclimated to the new world and life she’s landed in.

There have been so many worlds, so many different lives. She doesn’t know if she can handle another possibility that can’t ever happen for her. Doesn’t know if her heart will be able to handle it.

The first thing Clarke is blatantly aware of is that she’s in a bed that’s far more comfortable than what they used in their tents at the dropship. She moves her arms a little, getting a feel for the cool sheets beneath her and the warm, heavy comforter on top of her.

She jumps a second later when there’s a loud pounding at the door of her bedroom.

“Clarke!” a smooth, familiar female voice shouts through the wood. “Get your ass out of bed already. I know you’re probably dreaming about that literal Adonis of a man, but you’re seeing him tonight so quit being so pathetic. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

Clarke yawns involuntarily and stretches as a myriad of memories of the voice’s owner rush through her mind.

Flashes of the friendship that began in the sixth grade when they both came to school on the first day wearing the exact same outfit. Flashes of them presenting a united front against anyone or anything that might cause them the slightest harm. Flashes of them attempting a community cooking class in high school to impress a cute guy in their class.

Melissa. Or Mel. Sometimes Mellie when they’re both drunk off their asses. But she hates being called Mellie when they’re sober enough to know what’s going on around them.

Clarke is on Earth, in another universe where the bombs never went off, destroying everything in its path. Another universe where she never grew up in space. Another universe where she didn’t experience as much heartache and trauma. In this universe, she’s only known love and happiness, with a few heartbreaks in between.

Climbing out of her bed, she stretches her arms above her head once more and then shuffles across the floor to the door. As soon as she pulls it open, she’s assaulted by a mass of golden fur. Clarke looks down to find a beautiful golden retriever jumping at her legs and barking softly.

She smiles as she bends down to greet the dog as she moves through the hall, kissing the top of his head. “Good morning to you too, Zuko.”

She—this Clarke—had loved the original  _ Avatar: The Last Airbender  _ animated series as a kid, despite all of her friends obsessing over the live-action reboot. Zuko was always her favorite.

“You’re up,” Mel greets her. “Finally. I know it’s your day off and all, but still.”

“I’m surprised you’re actually up on time for once,” Clarke remarks, stepping into the kitchen, sighing lightly at Zuko trailing behind her begging for more attention.

Mel waves her off. “I’ve got an early meeting with my advisor. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be up. We both know this.”

Clarke laughs and nods. “Right.” She settles herself on one of the stools at the counter, pulling her plate closer and taking in the pleasant smells of her breakfast. “And I see you made me breakfast too.”

Mel shrugs. “I was already making mine and felt a little generous today. Don’t get used to it.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Clarke digs into her meal while Mel makes her way around the apartment, getting ready for her day ahead. Zuko sits at Clarke’s feet begging, like always. She just smiles and rubs the dog’s head, shooing him away to go eat his own food.

“Not sure when I’ll be back because I have some errands to run after my meeting,” Mel says from her place by the front door as she slides into her shoes. “If I’m not back before your date, please take pictures of how hot you look in whatever you’ve decided to wear.”

Clarke smiles. “I will. Now go before you’re late.”

Mel waves her off as she makes her way out of the apartment. “Love you,” she calls out as she closes the door tightly behind her.

Clarke laughs quietly. “Love you too.” She looks down at the dog and lets out a breath. “So, we’ve got plenty of time before I have to get ready for my date. What should we do after breakfast?”

Zuko barks softly.

Clarke smiles. “Go for a walk and then come back to laze around? I couldn’t agree more. Let me finish eating and then we’ll go.” She leans down to press a kiss to Zuko’s head and then pulls her breakfast closer.

As she eats the decent enough meal that Mel made—neither of them have ever been the best at cooking—she lets her eyes drift over the contents of the front room of the apartment, more memories of the time they’ve lived here working their way through her mind. 

All the decor is the perfect combination of their friendship. And she loves it. It hurts a little, seeing this Clarke’s memories of being so carefree and happy throughout her life. But she also loves it. 

She loves that another version of her has a life like this. She pushes down the pain that comes with knowing yet again that she doesn’t get any of this. It doesn’t hurt as much as it has before, though, and she’s glad that there are so many universes where a version of her is happy.

Zuko barking pulls her out of her head and she smiles softly at the dog, being reminded of Picasso back on Sanctum, and realizing how much she misses that dog.

“You ready for your walk?” she asks, getting another bark in response. She laughs at the dog’s enthusiasm. “Give me five minutes to change.”

It takes Clarke just under five minutes to get ready to go, changing into a pair of leggings, a vintage band t-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. Zuko’s already waiting by the front door with a leash in his mouth, his tail wagging from side to side.

She smiles as she leans down to put his harness on and then attach the leash, holding it securely in one hand. She grabs her keys off the hook on the wall and then steps out into the hall, locking the door behind her. 

Clarke allows Zuko to guide her through the hall and out into the world, taking the opportunity to just observe. The dog clearly knows the route they take every day, and she knows he’s a well-behaved dog.

Clarke doesn’t know how long she’ll be here—it always varies—so she’s going to take in as much of this universe as she can before the inevitable happens.

* * *

Hours later, after changing into the outfit that this Clarke thankfully picked out the day before, she makes her way across the parking lot toward the entrance of the venue before her, letting her eyes wander. 

As Clarke gets closer she can see the various booths set up throughout the large grassy field at the local park, all the bright lights and loud voices mixing together to create an atmosphere of enjoyment. 

Going to a carnival is something that this Clarke hasn’t done in years, considering how rare of an occurrence they’ve become over time. Moreover, she and Mel tend to spend their free time hanging out at local bars having a few beers instead of trying to win stuffed animals from games that are so obviously rigged. 

“Clarke!”

Turning toward the familiar voice, Clarke smiles brightly. In the back of her mind, she already knew who’d be waiting for her at the entrance when she showed up; she’s had the memory of when they met on their shared college campus playing in her head on repeat all afternoon. He’d been sweet, albeit a little awkward, while they talked after literally running into each other. 

This universe’s Clarke had thought he was cute and was interested in him right from the get-go. 

A complete one-eighty to how she felt about her own Bellamy when they first met what feels like a lifetime ago now.

Even though she’s already gone through this enough times—of seeing him and being near him—it still makes her heart skip a beat. Just like with so many of the other universes, Bellamy looks genuinely happy here—a little nervous, but still happy. It’s sweet to think about Bellamy being nervous to go on a first date with her.

She’s smiling widely as she approaches him, taking a moment to admire how good he looks wearing a simple pair of blue jeans and a nice t-shirt. No matter the universe, he always looks incredible in whatever he wears. 

“Bellamy, hi.”

“Hey. I already got us some tickets,” he says, holding up a handful of old-style raffle tickets. “You ready to go in?”

“Lead the way.” 

She follows him through the front gate, her senses immediately being assaulted by all the sights, sounds, and smells surrounding her.

“So what should we do first?” Bellamy’s voice drifts into her ear.

She looks up at him and smiles, shrugging. “I don’t know. You choose.”

“Okay. Well, would it be completely cliched of me to offer to win you a giant stuffed animal at one of the games?” he asks, a shy smile on his lips.

She takes a small step closer and smiles up at him. “I think it’s very sweet. I’m not too coordinated when it comes to this stuff anyway. I can never manage to get the big prizes.”

He beams. “Well, lucky for you, I’m a bit of a pro.”

Clarke snorts. “Can you really be a pro at carnival games?”

“If you try hard enough.” He smiles wistfully as his eyes drift across the expanse of the carnival. “Once my sister learned about carnivals, she begged me to help her do research on some of the games and then practice with her so she had a better chance at winning if one ever came to our town.”

“And what happened?”

Bellamy chuckles. “I ended up winning the big prizes more often than she did when one finally came to our hometown.”

She laughs with him. “Wow. That’s amazing.”

“Thanks. It’s not the most lucrative skill in the world, but it does well enough. Like when I take a beautiful woman to a carnival and want to impress her.”

She smiles, a small heat rising to her cheeks. “Well, I kinda have to see you play these games to be impressed.”

He nods. “That is very true. But now the biggest decision is figuring out which game to play first.”

“Well which game has the best prizes? Because if you’re going to win me a stuffed animal, I want the best one they have here.”

He looks at her after a moment and smiles, grabbing her hand in his. “I know the perfect game. Come on.” 

He gently drags her through the various booths until they reach the one he’s decided on, sitting on the complete opposite side of the carnival, right past all the food stands that are starting to call her name. 

She’s breathing a little heavier when they stop behind the small line of people waiting to play. Clarke peers around to see what’s waiting for them, finding a backboard filled with different colored balloons and darts sticking out, but none of the balloons are popped. 

“You’re sure you can win this one?” Clarke asks, standing back up straight and looking at Bellamy. 

He looks at her and nods. “Yeah. I told you, I practiced a lot with Octavia when we were kids. I got pretty good at this one. It’s probably my best.”

“Starting right away with your best one?” she teases easily. “Is that wise?”

He smiles. “You said you wanted the best prize, right? This game has the best. Because no one ever wins it.”

“But you’re going to.”

“Of course.”

The confidence is cute on him. The way he stands tall and holds his head up high, it’s not all high and mighty and cocky like the Bellamy she met during their dropship days. 

Eventually, they reach the front of the line, and Bellamy hands some of his tickets over to the person manning the game. She stands back just a little to give him plenty of room and watches as he carefully aims each of the three darts he’s given. Each one lands right where he intends it to, loudly popping a balloon with each hit.

Quiet clapping comes from some of the passersby around them, but she’s only focused on Bellamy, on the proud smile he wears. 

“Congratulations,” the man working the booth says, his voice and face giving away exactly how bored he is. “You get one of the big prizes from the top shelf.”

Bellamy turns to her. “It’s your prize, you pick.”

“Okay.” She lets her eyes scan over the limited options and then she smiles at Bellamy. “If we’re being cliche we met as well lean into it, right?” 

Clarke looks back at the worker. “I’ll take the giant teddy bear, please.”

She accepts the bear when the worker hands it to her, hugging it close and breathing deeply. She smiles up at Bellamy. “Thanks for this.”

He smiles back. “You’re welcome. I know the date’s only just started, but I’m already having a great time.”

“Me too.” She reaches down to grab one of his hands, lacing their fingers together and giving it a small squeeze. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“So am I. I do have a small confession to make, though,” he says, a sheepish smile playing at his lips.

She frowns playfully, hugging her teddy bear a little tighter against her body. “Oh no. You’re not secretly some crazy serial killer, are you?”

He laughs quietly and shakes his head. “No, I promise I’m not going to try and kill you.”

“Well that’s a relief,” she responds, starting to walk across the grass and gently pull him along beside her. “So what is this small confession you have to make?”

“Uh...I may have already known who you were when we met.”

She looks at him and raises a brow. “You did?”

“Yeah.” He ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck. “I’m kind of...I’m a big fan of the artwork that you post online. I think you’re incredibly talented. And the fact that you’re able to do all of that while also working to become a pediatrician is amazing.” 

He laughs quietly, and continues, “I’m sorry if I’m coming off a little strong right now. My sister likes to call me a dork because of how much I obsess over your art.”

“You’re not a dork for that,” she tells him honestly. “Liking my artwork just means that you have really good taste.”

“Does asking you out on a date mean that I have good taste too?” he questions with a small smile.

She tilts her head as the memory of their first meeting comes to the front of her mind and smiles. “I think I’m the one with the good taste since  _ I  _ asked  _ you  _ out.”

He laughs and nods. “Alright, that’s fair. But I also said yes. And I picked where we’d go,” he says, gesturing to the various booths surrounding them. “I think that qualifies me as having good taste as well.”

“I think it’s safe to say that we both have good taste.”

“And I would most definitely have to agree with that.” He smiles and then drags her to a nearby game, already chatting away about how often he and Octavia would practice this particular one.

It’s easy for Clarke to get lost in the thrill of being on a first date, something she never really experienced in her own universe. Dating on the Ark was vastly different, and once she got to the ground and had to start fighting to survive, going on anything resembling a date was nowhere near the front of her mind. 

Sure she has the memories of this Clarke going on other first dates over the years, but that doesn’t hold a candle to actually experiencing it. 

Even if it is, in reality, just another memory.

* * *

Stepping through the front door of the apartment, Clarke laughs quietly at the sight of Mel passed out on the couch, textbooks and takeout surrounding her, the TV on low volume in the background. She shakes her head and lets out a small breath, propping her teddy bear up against the wall so she can take care of the state of the living room.

She shuts the TV off, drapes a blanket over Mel’s body, which she immediately curls into, and then cleans up the takeout containers. Empty ones get tossed in the trash and half-filled ones go in the fridge for lunch and/or dinner tomorrow.

Once that’s dealt with, Clarke grabs her teddy bear and moves down the hall to the bedroom, not bothering trying to be quiet. 

According to this Clarke’s memories of late-night study sessions or crazy art project creations, Mel can sleep through anything. It’s been a major blessing throughout the course of their friendship.

Muscle memory and habit from this universe has her going through a nightly routine without much thought. Which is how, before she has time to register it, Clarke ends up in pajamas, lying in bed with the lights off and the teddy bear from Bellamy propped up in the corner of the room.

A quiet ding from her cellphone draws her attention and she grabs it to look at the screen. Bellamy’s face from earlier at the carnival smiles back at her. 

Clarke had told him to text her when he got home since they had to take separate cars because he had a work emergency right before their date and wasn’t able to pick her up like he’d wanted to.

A smile takes up her entire face at how sweet he is even over a text. She focuses on the phone and taps out a quick message.

As soon as she sets the phone aside Clarke’s vision goes blurry. Her heart sinks when she feels the familiar tugging deep inside her gut. She knows what’s coming next, knows by now after however many times that she only has mere seconds before she’s ripped away from another universe of possibilities.

Closing her eyes tightly, Clarke waits for the inevitable to happen. Waits for the intense pulling at her insides that will take her out of this world and back into the void. 

It may have gotten easier to leave with each universe she’s visited, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did this make anyone else want to go to a carnival? We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Gilly on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/gillybean729/), [Tumblr](https://skyeward-otp.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Gillybean729)! 
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you Thursday for a new chapter!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just...I just wish I could go back, you know? There are so many things I’d do differently—things to save them.” 
> 
> “Save them?” His eyebrows come together in confusion. 
> 
> *
> 
> Clarke gets dropped into a universe where she gets a much-needed redo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by [Miranda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myonetruelove/pseuds/Sparklyfairymira)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Mads.](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Miranda & Mads are involved in The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

Clarke isn’t expecting to see her dad again when she comes back to herself, but he’s waiting for her when she opens her eyes. 

“Can you please be...anyone else?” 

“We’ve talked about this. I’m here because your mind wants me to be,” he explains patiently. Just like her dad would have done, that sympathetic half-smile on his face like when she was a kid and he was explaining the rules of the Ark that she didn’t understand. 

She huffs in frustration, turning away from him. 

“I don’t understand why seeing your father would cause you this much anger, Clarke. Why wouldn’t you be happy to see him?” 

“ _Because you’re not him!_ ” 

It’s eerily silent for a long time after her outburst. She doesn’t turn back around to look at him at first, blinking away tears that are once again threatening to fall. 

She doesn’t want to feel like this. Because he’s right—seeing her dad should be a happy thing. Even if it’s not _her_ dad, it’s an amalgamation of his characteristics and memories, right? And yet. 

“Clarke…” 

“You’re wearing the faces of the people I loved most, of the people I let down the most. And it doesn’t matter that you know their memories. You aren’t them. And I think I keep seeing you as them—my dad, Bellamy, Wells—because I so desperately want for it to be real. For _you_ to be real.” 

“But I’m not.” She turns back around to look at him then. He doesn’t look angry or upset. But there is pity in his eyes, a sadness that’s probably reflected in her own. 

“Not in the way I need you to be.” She shrugs. 

Another silence stretches between them, Clarke not knowing what to say.

“I wish I could be real, to make this easier for you.” She isn’t sure if it’s genuine, or just a platitude that the anomaly knows her father would say based on his memories and personality. 

“I just...I just wish I could go back, you know? There are so many things I’d do differently—things to save them.” 

“Save them?” His eyebrows come together in confusion. 

“Or at least try to. I don’t know. Maybe I could have convinced my father to release the findings anonymously. Maybe I could have protected Wells. Maybe...” 

“Maybe you could have found a way not to shoot Bellamy?” he finishes for her after she trails off, and Clarke nods. “You know, one choice doesn’t necessarily mean everything is different.” 

“But it’s a start, isn’t it?” 

He considers her for a second, obviously debating something in his mind. Eventually, he must come to a decision, because he gestures for her to follow him with a nod of his head. 

The image he stops in front of is one she knows well—it’s been burned into her the back of her eyelids in the days leading up to her entering the anomaly for this test-turned-choice. Bellamy is standing there wearing those disciple robes. Even from the sketch, she can see the way he’s pleading with someone—presumably her. 

“Things end better?” she asks, looking up at the anomaly. 

“You make a different choice.” It’s not exactly an answer to the question she asked, but it will do. She reaches out to touch the wall, allowing herself to fall. 

* * *

Clarke blinks, flinching at the sound of a gunshot—a shot that she has just made. She watches the bullet hit Doucette in the chest as he tries to knock Gabriel to the ground, watches Bellamy rush to him as he collapses. She knows that she should feel something after shooting someone, but she just feels numb. The worst part is that she doesn’t know if she is the one feeling the numbness, or if it’s the Clarke of this universe.

“Raven, fire it up. We need to get to our friends.” The familiar words send a shiver down her spine, dread raining down on her. Did anomaly Bellamy send her back into her own world to relive her biggest mistake? He wouldn’t do that, would he?

She hears Raven moving behind her, but she keeps her gun trained at the enemy. Her heart is in her throat as thoughts rush through her mind that aren’t her own. 

So, this isn’t her universe, after all.

Memories flash through her mind that are so similar to her own timeline, but with just the smallest of differences—nothing that changed the course that they were all set on, but enough that Clarke knows that this isn’t her own universe. What does that mean?

“Which planet?” Raven demands. “Where are they?”

Cadogan just smiles. “It’s offline. Only I know the code.”

Clarke wants to knock that damn smile off of his face. He’s so fucking smug and she hates him. She wants to shoot him, but she can’t seem to make her finger squeeze the trigger. 

“Enter the code and maybe I won’t kill you,” Clarke warns, tilting her head. 

Cadogan looks at her for a moment before making his way over to the anomaly stone and entering in the code. She hears the anomaly open behind her as he turns back to face her. “There’s your bridge. Go.”

Clarke laughs. “Yeah, no. You’re coming with us, so move. Now.”

“You really should have more faith, Clarke,” Cadogan says but at least he’s moving. Clarke doesn’t have time to think about what his words mean—just like she didn’t in her own universe—because Bellamy steps forward as if to follow.

She swings the gun to him, flinching internally when he blanches. “Not you. You made your choice and it wasn’t us, so you stay.”

“I really hope that this new thing you believe in is worth it,” Murphy says from behind her.

Bellamy nods, but his eyes never leave Clarke’s. “It is.”

Raven scoffs, “We don’t have time for this. Let’s go.”

“Indra,” Clarke calls without looking away from Bellamy. “Watch Cadogan.” 

She hears them entering the anomaly and she knows that she has to follow but she has more to say. “I said I wouldn’t lose anyone else, but you’ve made that impossible _Disciple_ Blake. You’ve made me break a promise to myself and you don’t even care, do you?”

This Bellamy, not unlike her own, doesn’t say anything as he just keeps watching her. Clarke feels tears fill her eyes as she repeats the words that replay over and over in her own head. 

“So much for together.”

She sees the pain on his face, but it doesn’t stop her from slowly moving back towards the bridge that will take her to her friends. Clarke wants to close her eyes—wants to yell at Bellamy to not do what he’s about to do, but she can’t. This isn’t her universe and this has already happened. She can’t change it. 

She doesn’t think that she can go through this again.

She pauses when Sheidheda speaks to Bellamy and then he’s moving to the throne. She wants to scream, to cry—anything except live through this again. But he already has the sketchbook in his hands and is looking at it. 

Clarke feels the dread from this Clarke as she steps forward, training the gun fully on Bellamy as she calls out to him in Trig, “ _Bellamy. Give it to me.”_

Bellamy doesn’t look up, just keeps flipping through the sketchbook and all Clarke wants to yell at him—to warn him of what is coming if he doesn’t listen to her, but she can’t. Her heart breaks as she realizes that doing so won’t change anything at all.

“ _Bellamy,”_ she tries again in Trig. _“Give it to me.”_ She turns the gun to Cadogan’s guards. _“Now. Or I’ll kill them all. You know I will.”_

Bellamy finally looks up to meet her eyes, shaking his head. “Clarke, Madi won’t be in any danger. How could you think that I would do anything to put her in danger?”

Clarke shakes her head. _“They’ll kill her, you know that. I can’t let that happen.”_

“I’m trying to save us all, Clarke. Why can’t you see that?” Bellamy’s eyes fill with tears and his voice cracks.

This Clarke is too mad for tears, but Clarke wishes that she could tell her that Bellamy is right, that transcendence is real, and that killing him? Killing him is pointless because he’s right. He was always right and she’d killed him anyway. And now the anomaly has sent her back to do it again. Why?

“I’ll kill Cadogan. Is that what you want?” Clarke’s voice is steady—ice cold. “Give it to me.”

One of the guards rushes forward and Clarke turns the gun on him and fires. He falls to the ground, but Clarke is numb. His death sparks no emotion in her, even though, she knows that it should. When did she stop feeling? When did she become this cold? This broken?

“Hold.” Bellamy raises his hand as the other guards start to move up. His eyes search hers for something. He’s looking for something, but she isn’t sure what. “This isn’t about Cadogan. You killing him won’t change what we’re trying to do. We’re trying to save the human race.”

Clarke turns the gun back to Bellamy, hand shaking slightly. This Clarke knows what she might have to do and she doesn’t want to, but what if he makes her? Can she do it? Tears fill her eyes as she watches him. She doesn’t want to do this—and it’s not just her. This Clarke doesn’t want to. “Don’t make me do this.”

“You’re not going to shoot me, Clarke.” Bellamy shakes his head. He has every reason to think that she won’t. It’s not the first time that she’s held a gun on him and she’s never shot him before. 

Clarke knows what is supposed to come next, but instead, Clarke steps forward. “I don’t want to, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

Instinctively Clarke knows that these aren’t the Clarke of this universe’s words—these are her own. She can finally say what she wishes she would’ve said to Bellamy in her own universe. She knows that she can’t change what happens in this universe—the events have already happened—but she can say exactly what she needs to say. Maybe she can find peace in that.

“Bellamy, I understand that you believe that transcendence is real and maybe it is, but does that really mean that you’re going to abandon your _family_? That you’re going to betray us?” Clarke’s words are laced with tears that she won’t let fall. “How can you do that? How would that be worth everything you’ve built with us?” She pauses. “What about your sister? What about Octavia?”

Clarke can see Bellamy hesitate for a moment before he shakes his head. “She’s not my responsibility anymore. She’s her own responsibility.”

As much as it’s something that she’s glad to hear him say, it’s not going to help her convince him to give the book to her. “Fine, she’s not your responsibility. Great. I’m glad you realized that. But what about me?” She pauses when she sees the confusion on his face. “I love you, Bellamy. I’ve been in love with you for so long that I don’t even remember when I fell in love with you.

“Did you really think that those radio calls were made specifically to you because you’re my _friend_? Even you aren’t that dense.” Clarke shakes her head. “You have to know that I’m in love with you and I think you might feel the same, but you’ve been denying it. So let’s get it all out on the table now.”

Bellamy blinks at her, mouth opening and closing for a moment before he shakes his head. “That doesn’t have anything to do with this, Clarke.”

“It has _everything_ to do with this, Bellamy,” the words explode out of Clarke as the tears finally spill over and down her cheeks. “I just told you that I’m in love with you and that changes nothing at all?”

“I…I…” Bellamy licks his lips as he looks back down at the book before looking back up at her. “Of course I love you, Clarke. How could I not? But this isn’t about me or you or even Madi. This is about the fate of the entire human race and the fact that we could never have to know sorrow or pain again.”

“You mean like the City of Light?” Clarke asks. “What is love without heartbreak? What is joy without pain? What is hope without fear? You can’t just take away the bad and only have the good. That’s not real.”

Bellamy considers her for a moment before shaking his head. “I saw it, Clarke. It was beautiful. I want so desperately to be happy again. I want everyone to be happy. Can you imagine a life where there are no more worries, no more wars?”

“No,” Clarke shakes her head with a laugh. “And I don’t want to. The good means nothing without the bad. And you know that.” Clarke has no idea if Bellamy’s words are the words that he spoke to this Clarke or if somehow the anomaly is having him answer differently. She just knows that she doesn’t want to shoot him again. It’ll break her if she has to. She thinks _maybe_ she’s swaying him with her words, but she can’t be sure. And if they are, what does that matter? It won’t change the outcome of this universe, will it? No, of course, it won’t. She can’t change something that’s already happened.

Bellamy shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Clarke, but I want all of the suffering to end and this is the only way.” He moves toward one of the guards. “We need to keep this safe for the Shepherd. 

The gun goes off before Clarke can even think about it and her heart is in her throat. She can’t. She can’t.

But the gun wasn’t aimed at Bellamy. It was aimed at the guard he was trying to hand the book to. Blood splashes across Bellamy’s robes—the red so stark against the white. 

Clarke swings the gun around and pulls the trigger again. And then again. She watches as the last guard’s body hits the floor before turning back to Bellamy. He’s staring down at his robes and the sketchbook that are covered in blood. 

“I guess you’re coming with us after all.”

Clarke marches over, grabbing Bellamy’s arm, and begins to drag him toward the bridge that could close at any moment. He’s obviously in shock as he doesn’t even try to fight her. They step inside and Clarke lets her tears fall once more. 

This Clarke had been able to save her Bellamy, so why hadn’t she been able to save hers? Why is it that this Clarke had enough bullets to down the guards and she hadn’t? Why hadn’t she thought to shoot the guard in the first place? They had been unarmed and not much of a threat at all. 

It’s not fair. 

She understands that anomaly Bellamy is trying to let her have a redo, a chance to not kill Bellamy—yes, she’d been able to say the things that she wishes she could have said to her Bellamy, but it’s not enough. How could it be enough? This isn’t her universe. Her Bellamy is still dead. 

And that’s what all of this comes down to, isn’t it? Bellamy is dead and she doesn’t want to accept it—doesn’t want to accept that he was right and she was wrong. That she’d killed him for nothing. She finally understands why she isn’t ready to stop visiting other universes—she’s not ready to stop seeing Bellamy. 

She’s not ready to stop seeing the lives where the other versions of herself chose better than she had. Clarkes that are brave enough to tell him how they really feel. 

She is a coward and she hates herself. That’s why she keeps doing this. She’s punishing herself—forcing a penance on herself until she feels worthy of making a choice for all of mankind. Because she isn’t really worthy. Not anymore. And she’s not sure that she ever will be.

But it’s too late. She’s here now and it’s time that she finally accepts that she has to make this decision. It’s time that she accepts that it’s okay to be jealous of the Clarkes who made better choices than she did. It’s time that she accepts that her life is the way that it is because of the choices that has she made. 

They step out of the anomaly on what Clarke knows is Earth, but it takes a moment for this Clarke to realize what’s happening—she begins to feel light-headed and knows that her time here is short. She takes one more glance at Bellamy and hopes that this Clarke and this Bellamy can figure their shit out. She hopes that this Bellamy doesn’t betray his friends and family. She hopes that this Clarke will never know the guilt of killing the man that she loves. 

She welcomes the dizziness and the dark. 

She has a job to do and she’s determined to do it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What we should have had. Nope, we’re not still bitter at all. We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Miranda on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/sparklyfairymira/), [Tumblr](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sparklyfairymi1)!
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you Sunday for a new chapter!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silence in the tent is heavy and Clarke wants it gone. It makes her feel uncomfortable—like she doesn’t know how to be around her best friend.
> 
> *
> 
> Another universe that is too close to her own—or so she thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes chapter 25! We hope you enjoy!
> 
> Tomorrow begins a week-long hiatus for us but not to worry! We have something planned for the week! Make sure to check out our social media starting tomorrow!
> 
> Chapter written by [ak.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_eddit/pseuds/franklyineedcoffee)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Sam.](https://burninghoneyatdusk.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Mads & Sam are involved in The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

Clarke is almost scared to open her eyes. She loves her father and would do almost anything to see him again, but...well, it’s not the same. 

“Clarke?” Her eyes fly open at the sound of her name coming from someone else’s lips. 

_ Bellamy.  _

Relief floods through her, and she wonders when she started looking forward to seeing him when the first couple of universes had brought nothing but dread. 

“Hi. I was just...um…” 

“Hoping it wasn’t Jake?” There’s that sympathetic half-smile again. Part of her wants to reach out and touch the way it makes his left cheek dimple, but she shakes the impulse from her head. 

_ It’s not Bellamy. And even if it was, that isn’t something you can do. Not ever in your universe, and certainly not now.  _

They stand there, staring at each other for a long moment. He’s studying her in that way the anomaly does more and more the longer she’s here. And she’s unsure what to say. She’s about to turn to start looking for another universe when he breaks the silence. 

“It’s okay to miss him, you know.” 

“I’ve been missing him in some form or another for most of my adult life, at this point. I just...wish I didn’t have to.” Her voice sounds sad even to her own ears. He continues to study her for a moment, but eventually, he looks away. 

They walk down another hallway side-by-side in a subdued silence. She finds an innocuous-looking sketch and pulls herself into the darkness. 

* * *

When Clarke comes to, she’s in a tent. It isn’t unfamiliar to her, and it takes her a moment to realize where she is. As she looks around her, taking in her surroundings, she feels a weight on her leg. An involuntary twitch runs through her body and she looks up to see Bellamy’s eyes on her, worry coloring his features. 

“Hey. You’re okay,” Bellamy says, his voice soft. 

Clarke’s eyes catch Bellamy’s and it takes everything in her to not fall apart. Her lips quiver and she feels her nose sting—she has to hold it together. She can’t fall apart. Not now, not like this. 

Clarke closes her eyes and inhales a shuddering breath, willing her tears to not fall. 

“How are you feeling?” a second voice asks. She knows who it is without even looking at him—Gabriel. 

Clarke nods feebly and hears something being moved. She opens her eyes and realizes it is Bellamy, and he’s a lot closer than she expected. 

This feels like just yesterday. She knows what happens next. Clarke thanking Bellamy for saving her, and Bellamy, as usual, will be overcome with guilt for having left his people—his family—behind. Then Octavia will interrupt them, and that will be that. 

But Octavia’s already here, and she’s hovering. She has an arm resting on her brother’s back and gives Clarke a weak smile when their eyes meet, holding her gaze. 

The silence in the tent is heavy and Clarke wants it gone. It makes her feel uncomfortable—like she doesn’t know how to be around her best friend. So she looks away from Octavia and turns to Gabriel, “How long was I out?” 

If he’s surprised he doesn’t show it. Clarke sees him hesitate before answering, “A couple of hours.” 

She pushes herself off the bed and makes to put her jacket back on when she feels warm fingers catch her wrist. 

Of course, it’s Bellamy. 

“You didn’t say how you’re feeling. How’s your head?” he asks. 

Clarke doesn’t meet his eyes and nods feebly again. She doesn’t trust her voice around him. She doesn’t trust  _ herself _ around him—can’t predict what that treasonous mouth of hers will say. 

“Clarke, come on, I hit you pretty hard during CPR. I’m sure I cracked a rib. I need to know if I hurt you. I need to know you’re ok,” he continues, and it’s all Clarke can take. 

It’s the way he says her name that gets to Clarke and the next thing she knows, she’s crumbling, her body wracked with sobs. 

She just needs a minute—maybe five—to get her bearings. The memories will hit her soon. She just needs a minute alone. 

* * *

Clarke slides against the wall, breathing heavily. She shuts her eyes and—there they are, the memories that she has been waiting for. 

_ Haunted eyes found hers and Finn’s lips formed the words “I found you.” A blink and Clarke was driving a blade through the heart of the love of Raven’s life.  _

_ The next moment, Clarke was outside Mount Weather, surrounded by her people but feeling all alone.  _

The memories are flashing faster now.

_ Clarke could see the heartbreak in Bellamy’s eyes when she told him she couldn’t come with him. She could feel her own heart crack into two when he asked her to come back to her people. But he didn’t understand how, even after all this time, she still couldn’t face them. Couldn’t take Jasper’s words and Raven’s stares that may as well penetrate her heart.  _

A blink. 

_ Raven, a manic rage in her eyes and shoulders set, throwing all of Clarke’s regrets in her face. But Clarke couldn’t show Raven, now possessed by a murderous AI, how much she agreed with her; how death did follow Clarke everywhere she went. Wells, Charlotte, Finn—hell, even Lexa, who died from the bullet meant to kill Clarke. The grief, the anger, the helplessness roll off Clarke, but the one person who could understand wasn’t in the room. _

Another blink.

_ Murphy’s hand hovered over her exposed neck. Abby’s grip tightened around Clarke’s hand but rather than grounding her, Clarke only panicked more. Instinctively, her fingers reached out for Bellamy, seeking the reassurance she could always count on from him. Bellamy’s calloused hand wrapped around hers and Clarke felt ready.  _

A flash. 

_ Bellamy’s hand was heavy on her hip as they looked at the list she’d made—him telling her if he was on the list then so was she. She rested her forehead on his shoulder and asked him if he still had hope.  _

_ Then she watched him leave the planet, on a rocket that couldn’t wait for her. She never told him she loved him. He didn’t know.  _

Clarke’s eyes fly open at the memory and the sadness that accompanies it. 

_ Oh. _

As fast as she can, she climbs up the ladder from the anomaly stone. She doesn’t have to look for him because he’s right outside, just as she knew he would be. 

He pulls her up and this time, she throws her arms around him. 

He hugs her back, whispering something she can’t hear, rocking them softly. After what feels like eons, she pulls back and looks at him. 

A new memory hits Clarke and staggers a little. Bellamy’s grip on her tightens.

_ Clarke’s mild irritation at the turn Octavia’s personality had taken had been replaced by pure terror. She wasn’t sure when she’d last felt that way, but it definitely wasn’t in the past six years.  _

_ Clarke stared between Octavia and Bellamy, with the former having just threatened to kill her brother—the one that jumped on a dropship headed for an irradiated planet just to keep her safe—if he dared speak against her or her people.  _

_ Clarke saw the tension in Bellamy’s shoulders seeping into the rest of his broad frame, confusion clouding his face.  _

_ She had half a mind to reach out to him, try to take some of the burden he carried so readily off him. But how could she help with this? He was Atlas, and Clarke didn’t know how to save him.  _

_ Clarke took Bellamy’s hand, squeezing it.  _

_ What happened in six years that would make Octavia do such a thing? Of course, she had always been a little aggressive, in Clarke’s opinion. She’d always carried a chip on her shoulder, thought she had something to prove. But this? This made no sense.  _

_ Before Clarke could say anything, the rover burst into their line of sight, stopping not far from them. Madi jumped out and Clarke felt the tension in her body drain out.  _

_ “I’m sorry Bell, but I have to go. It’s Madi—” she began, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.  _

_ Clarke pushed off the ground and ran towards Madi, gathering her in a hug as her daughter crashed into her.  _

_ “You’re okay?” she asked, running her hands over Madi’s face, checking for any visible injuries.  _

_ Madi nodded. “Murphy, Monty, Harper, Echo, and Emori kept me safe.” She grinned. At their names, Clarke’s head whipped around, checking the rover, and she saw Monty raise his hand in greeting.  _

_ Clarke pulled Madi in for another hug. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she murmured into her hair.  _

_ “It’s not a big deal, Mom,” Madi said. “Have you talked to Bellamy yet? Did you tell him you love him? What did he say—” Clarke slapped a hand over Madi’s mouth and checked around, in case anyone had heard.  _

_ She was not prepared for the gut-punch of seeing Bellamy kiss Echo, her holding on to him like he was her lifeline and his hands in her hair. They stopped as if they could sense her gaze on them and Clarke looked away hastily not wanting to be caught staring. _

_ Clarke’s chest felt like it was caving in. Her face was on fire, but everything else felt numb.  _

_ She forced a smile and looked down at Madi. “Tell me everything that happened after I left you,” she said.  _

_ This was not the worst thing that could have happened. At least they were all alive.  _

_ She repeated the mantra to herself, and Clarke was pretty sure that was what made sure she didn’t fall apart.  _

Bellamy is crying. His cheeks are tear-stained, but a smile is making its way to his lips. 

“You’re here,” he croaks and all she can do is nod, leaning forward to press her forehead against his. 

“I’ve missed you,” she breaths. 

Bellamy chokes, “Me? Clarke, I thought you died. You did die! I saw you flatline. You stopped breathing!”

Clarke shakes her head. “But you saved me. Again,” she says. She’d missed this. She’d missed him. 

No matter the war that’s raging in her mind, she knows that she’ll always love Bellamy, even in universes where he doesn’t know or she hasn’t admitted her feelings for him to herself. Even in universes where their love isn’t enough. 

“What was I supposed to do? Let you die?” 

A laugh bubbles out of her and she shakes her head. He’s here. And he saved her again. How can she ever thank him for everything he’s done for her? 

This time, it’s Bellamy who pulls her into a hug and of course, Clarke burrows into his chest, letting herself feel small for a moment; feel for one second like the fate of the human race doesn’t rest on her shoulders. Like she isn’t alone. 

Time is meaningless when they’re holding each other. At least that hasn’t changed. 

Bellamy pulls back slightly and looks at her, an odd look in his eyes—indecision coupled with fear, maybe? Clarke isn’t sure, but before she can ask him, he’s leaning in again and his lips are on hers, soft but insistent. 

She isn’t ready for the flood of memories that hit her this time. 

He’s kissed her like this before. 

_ “If I’m on that list, you’re on that list,” Bellamy said, his voice gruff from his nap. Clarke couldn’t do it, she didn’t think she deserved to be saved.  _

_ He kneeled next to her, an arm across her shoulder, and lifted her chin to look her in the eye. “We do what needs to be done. There isn’t a thing in this universe that gets to judge you for your choices, Clarke,” Bellamy said—all heart.  _

_ He took the pen from her and wrote her name, a stilted scrawl, and Clarke could feel a warmth spread through her body.  _

_ Unable to find the right words, Clarke just hugged him, putting all the gratitude and love she felt for this boy into the embrace.  _

_ “If you need forgiveness, I can give you that,” he reminded her and a scoff erupted from Clarke’s lips.  _

_ “Thank you, Bellamy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” _

_ “Probably die of exposure to a deadly wave of radiation,” he said, and Clarke could hear the smirk in his voice.  _

_ It’s nice here in his arms. Safe. So of course, Clarke pulled away.  _

_ “When was the last time you ate? Or slept?” Bellamy asked, his hand gripping her arm as she pulled away. When she didn’t reply, he shook his head, pulled away, and marched toward the door. Clarke’s eyes followed his retreating frame, confused by the way her body reacted to the loss of contact, but the moment was gone soon.  _

_ Clarke turned back to the table and put the list away. Just as she was making a mental note to speak to Raven about the renovations, Bellamy walked back into the room, a pack of rations in one hand.  _

_ “You don’t have to feed me, you know. I can eat. I was going to after I was done with work,” she told him, her voice gentle as he unpacked the rations.  _

_ “Clarke, I trust you with my life; I just don’t trust you with your own,” he said, not looking at her.  _

_ She felt like she’d been slapped.  _

_ Clarke reached across and wrapped Bellamy’s hands with her own, prompting him to turn to look at her quizzically. Clarke kissed him.  _

_ She didn’t understand it herself, but Bellamy needed to know how much he meant to her and how much having him by her side again had allowed her to breathe—finally.  _

_ His hand came up to cradle her face as he kissed her back, while the other pulled her closer.  _

_ “If that’s all it took for you to kiss me, I’d have brought you a pack of rations long ago,” he joked, breathless.  _

_ “Thank y--” Clarke began saying, but he cut her off with a kiss.  _

_ “If you thank me one more time,” Bellamy said, pulling back before kissing her again. “Well, I don’t know what I’d do. But I think this would be more enjoyable, don’t you?”  _

_ Clarke laughed a full-bodied laugh and her chest felt like it might burst.  _

_ “Stop talking and kiss me, Bellamy,” she said, her voice light and her chest on fire. _

_ “Whatever the hell you want, Princess.” _

Clarke startles when she feels pressure across her cheek. She blinks and takes a step back. 

It’s Bellamy, and he’s wiping the tears that are now flowing freely down her face. Clarke stops him and turns away. 

Bellamy kissed her and she cried on him. A part of her knows he won’t care, not if that memory is anything to go by. But another part, a very large one at that, is mortified and wants to run away and never face him again. 

Clarke knows the second one isn’t an option, especially not when they need to save their friends. There’s a megalomaniacal, self-styled god who had body-snatched her and she knows he would do the same to bring back anyone else he loves. Clarke’s people need her, and she can’t abandon them just because she cried on the love of her life when he kissed her. 

“Clarke.” Bellamy starts, his eyes begging her to stay. 

She had forgotten about Bellamy’s ability to speak entire sentences with just her name. Wiping her tears, she looks around for Octavia or Gabriel, only to find that she’s alone here with Bellamy. 

In the six years and seven days that she radioed him every day, Clarke never ran out of things to say to Bellamy, but now she finds herself rendered speechless. 

She finds herself gravitating towards the bed she’d been so hasty to jump out of. A nap sounded like a good idea. 

* * *

_ When she woke up, Bellamy was caressing her face, pushing a stray lock of her hair away.  _

_ They’d been sharing quarters for about a month now. It all began when they started taking in people from Luna’s clan, who were the first victims of radiation. They needed someplace to stay, so some of the Arkadians began giving up their quarters. Clarke, of course, was one of them.  _

_ She wasn’t going to lie and say it wasn’t a convenient excuse to wake up every morning next to Bellamy, but it did make her feel less… selfish, she supposed was the word.  _

_ “Good morning, princess,” Bellamy said, a soft smile on his lips, which Clarke returned.  _

_ Clarke could never tire of the way he looked at her. There weren’t enough words in the English language for her to describe his expression. Her stomach swooped and her heart soared as she realized, as she did every morning she woke up next to Bellamy, that this was her life now. She got to have this.  _

_ Before the sky could fall down, Clarke hooked her leg around Bellamy and flipped them, so she was now straddling him. For a second, she wondered if her expression was as lovestruck as his before bending down to capture his lips with hers.  _

_ Logically, Clarke knew the novelty of kissing Bellamy whenever the hell she wanted would wear off— probably soon. But it didn’t feel like it would. Every time his fingers so much as brushed across her skin, she felt a thrill run through her.  _

_ Half an hour later, they were still in bed, exchanging lazy kisses and snuggles. The human race could wait, Clarke was going to let herself have this moment with the boy she loved.  _

* * *

When Clarke comes to this time, she’s still in the tent. The confusion isn’t there this time, and she knows exactly who is sitting next to her bed. She pushes herself up and looks around. It seems to be dark out, and she and Bellamy seem to be the only ones inside. 

“Hey,” she says, shaking Bellamy lightly. 

He startles and almost loses his balance as he wakes up. His eyes are bloodshot and slightly puffy, his cheeks tearstained. 

Clarke smiles softly. “Hi.” 

“Have you been awake long? How are you feeling?” he asks. 

“I don’t feel like I was run over by the rover anymore. But still a little sore,” she says. “Where are Gabriel and Octavia?” 

“Gabriel has a plan to save our friends—to save Madi. He says we can set off the early warning system with red sun toxin bombs, so everyone will evacuate. We can get everyone out during the chaos.” 

“But where will we even get that much toxin from?” 

“He says he knows a place. That’s where they are now, actually,” he says, scooting closer. 

Clarke isn’t convinced, but she doesn’t say anything. Her time in this world could end at any minute. She is allowed to want to spend it with Bellamy before she gets whooshed away. 

No matter what her memories suggest, Clarke’s reality is that she shot the man sitting in front of her. 

“I’m sorry I cried when you kissed me,” Clarke says, feeling shy all of a sudden. 

Bellamy laughs a full-bodied laugh she hasn’t heard enough of, and all of her awkwardness is gone in an instant. 

This is Bellamy,  _ of course, _ he wouldn’t care. 

“And I’m sorry you keep having to save me. I’ll try not to die this time.” 

“That would be nice, yes,” Bellamy snarks back, his voice full of affection. He takes her hand in his and brings it up to his lips, kissing her palm softly. 

"I love you, you know," Clarke says, her eyes on their intertwined fingers. "I don't think I ever got to tell you that." 

"I know," Bellamy replies, softly. "And I bet I didn't make it easy for you, coming back to earth with a girlfriend." His eyes are warm as they meet hers, but she sees the regret in them. 

This Bellamy is different. Clarke knows him, but he feels like a different person. He still carries the whole world on his shoulders, but there's something else she can't put her finger on. 

"I love you too, Princess. I never told you either. I almost did, when you were running off to adjust that satellite dish. But Raven was there, as were Monty and Murphy and I didn't want to look like a sap. We had time, right? We were going into space, and we'd finally have some peace. No grounders, no megalomaniacal AIs trying to take over our consciousness. We'd have time together, something we never had. I was going to tell you the moment you got back. But you didn't come back. And you know what happened after that." 

Clarke wants to cry, she feels it in her chest. But the tears won't come. Her eyes aren't stinging and her throat isn't closing up. She doesn't understand why the tears won't come, because she feels shattered. 

"I had a lot of time to live with my regrets, Clarke. Despite everything that's happened in my life, all the things I've done—you're the biggest regret. You're the first thing I wanted for myself." 

"Bellamy, please, stop—" 

"No, I need to say this. You need to hear this. I didn't  _ want _ to leave you behind. I had to. I was using my head like  _ you  _ asked me—" 

"I know, Bellamy. I don't hold it against you," Clarke tells him. 

“I know,” he says, a sad smile on his face. “We could’ve had years. We deserve years, Princess.” 

Now she’s crying, the tears flowing freely down her face. She isn’t even thinking about how this isn’t real. How many days and nights has she spent speaking to Bellamy, hoping he’d reply. And now he’s here, and he’s saying the things she’d hoped he’d say. 

Clarke is an idiot, she knows that. She never let herself fully love Bellamy Blake—she knows that too. But maybe she should. Maybe the Clarke in this timeline deserves it, however short-lived it may be. 

“Please stop crying,” Bellamy says, pulling her into his lap and running a thumb over her cheek. “You know, I don’t think you’ve ever shed as many tears in the entire time I’ve known you as you have in the past day. Who are you and what have you done with Clarke Griffin?” he jokes. 

Clarke scoffs, bitterness seeping into it. She doesn’t recognize herself anymore. There isn’t a universe in which a woman who loves a man as much as she does Bellamy, would shoot him in the chest. She knows this because even when she didn’t love him, she couldn’t shoot him. 

“I’m sorry, Bellamy.” 

“I know,” he replies, a grin overtaking his features. 

“What are you grinning about?” she asks, a little defensive.

“I’m thinking about all the time we have now.” 

“You’re a sap, Bellamy Blake.” 

He laughs, his head thrown back, and Clarke surges forward to kiss him. He responds immediately, her face in his hands, his lips more insistent against hers, and then she lets him take the lead. 

A while later, Clarke finds herself lying on Bellamy, her head on his chest. He’s got one arm around her, and he’s idly running his fingers through her hair. 

She’s not going to cry thinking about leaving this universe. In a strange way, she’s glad for this universe’s Clarke now. She deserves this. Maybe Clarke has fixed things for her, in whatever little measure. She can know happiness now—something Clarke doesn’t think she’ll ever know in her own universe. 

She feels the familiar dizziness and tug of leaving this universe and this time, Clarke welcomes it. Her time here is up now—she’s fixed all that she can. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exes to lovers? Sign me up! We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow ak on [Tumblr](https://franklyineedcoffee.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/danglinggmaybes)! 
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you next Sunday for a new chapter! Please be sure to check out our social media to find out about the fun we have planned during our hiatus week!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to visit another universe, or are we done here?” Clarke blinks at him, taken aback. His voice is hard, almost cold. It’s not the first time she’s heard Bellamy use that tone with her, but this isn’t technically Bellamy. 
> 
> **
> 
> Clarke gets dropped into a universe where one decision changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Chapter 26 has arrived! We hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [Hannah.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellarke_Stitch_Delena/pseuds/Bellarke_Stitch_Delena)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Brooke.](https://broashwhat.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Hannah, Mads & Brooke are involved in The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

_ We could’ve had years. We deserve years, Princess. _

His words are still echoing in her mind when she comes back to herself. She’s not sure she deserves years, but Bellamy certainly did. She knows the universe is just a memory—that she can’t change what happened or happens in that world anymore than she can go back and change what she’s done in her own reality. 

But the idea makes her feel better anyway. And she decides not to ask the anomaly how everything turned out for that Clarke and Bellamy. 

He’s watching her when she opens her eyes, his own narrowed just a little. It’s...weird. It’s not a look Bellamy ever gave her—like he’s trying to figure her out. Bellamy always seemed to just know what she was thinking or feeling. But the anomaly version of him is watching her like she’s some puzzle he’s yet to solve. 

“What?” she snaps a bit more forcefully than she intended. Her voice seems to snap him out of it, and he shakes his head. 

“Nothing.” 

“Not nothing. Do I have something on my face? Are you doing that weird mind reading thing? What?” Clarke crosses her arms over her chest, raising her chin in defiance. She recognizes she sounds a little like a petulant child, but she can’t help but feel defensive—as if he’s judging her for something. 

Bellamy was never perfect, but the one thing he never did was judge her for her thoughts and actions. Not even in those first days on the ground. And she’s not going to let some anomaly manifestation that looks like him start. 

“Just drop it,” he shoots back, hands on his hips. 

Clarke just sighs, rolling her eyes. “You don’t get to judge me.” 

“That’s not what I’m doing.” 

“ _ Then what is it? _ ” 

“Do you want to visit another universe, or are we done here?” Clarke blinks at him, taken aback. His voice is hard, almost cold. It’s not the first time she’s heard Bellamy use that tone with her, but this isn’t technically Bellamy. 

“You know what? Fine. But remember, you’re the one who told me I can’t use these alternate realities to run away.” She gives him a pointed look before reaching her hand out to the sketch next to the one she just came back from. 

Irritation is still hot on her cheeks as the darkness creeps in. 

* * *

She feels very groggy when she comes to and for a second she doesn't recognize where she is. She's standing in a contained area, walls surrounding her. It takes her a minute, but then she remembers. She's in the bunker near the stairs—the ones where, in her own universe, she’d almost shot Bellamy. 

Even as she held the gun on him, before he said it would have to be a kill shot, she knew she wasn't going to pull the trigger. She never could. 

Until she did. 

She’s pulled out of memories from her own world by a hand waving in front of her face. "Clarke, I need you to stay focused. Did you even hear what I said?" It's a voice she hasn't heard in what feels like forever. 

_ Roan. _

He’s not someone that she’d thought that she missed, but she does. Even if he was a pain in her ass most of the time, he’d been a great ally and friend to her in her universe.

Clarke clears her throat and turns to him. "Sorry, Roan it won't happen again. What were you saying?" 

Roan gives her an odd look but seems to let it go. He motions for her to follow him, so she does. They head into the office that Octavia had used as her own when she was in charge of the bunker in Clarke’s own universe. He motions for her to enter first and she ducks into the room. 

He closes the door behind them and gestures for her to sit down, waiting until she sits before he follows suit. "I have no idea how you managed to get the bunker and keep it a secret from everyone but me, Bellamy, and Indra—but you did." 

And just like that, memories of this universe began to flood through her head.

Bellamy and Indra walking into the room as she’d told Roan and Echo that the world was ending. Advising them that they had to keep it quiet until a solution was found. 

Indra recalling the rumors of a bunker from her childhood. Searching for said bunker with Indra and Bellamy. Their shock and joy upon finding the bunker. 

Echo’s shock—though not Roan’s—when Clarke upheld her side of the bargain, telling the Azgeda King of the bunker’s existence. Echo not believing that Wanheda would ever tell them the truth held a knife to her throat, saying that if they didn’t admit it was a lie then she’d slit Clarke’s throat.

The sound of a gunshot. Echo’s body hitting the floor. Her eyes meeting Bellamy’s. 

Now the three clans: Skaikru, Trikru, and Azgeda are locked inside the bunker and they just need to find a way to coexist peacefully. Easy, right?

"Well, I'm very good at that sort of thing Roan—as you well know.." 

Roan lets out a smile. "I know. Now, we just need to figure out a way to get three different clans to get along with one another and exist together for five years in a small space. I have an idea, but I don't know how you'll feel about it." 

Clarke raises her eyebrows as if to say  _ try me _ . At this point, anything is worth trying if it will get everyone to peacefully coexist. 

Roan sighs. "You have the trust of both Trikru and Skaikru, who are already allies. I have the trust of Azgeda—who hates both Skaikru and Trikru just as much as they hate Azgeda. So I think we should get married—to show a united front—to lead together," he says the last part in a rush and it takes her a moment to realize what he’s said.

If Clarke had been drinking anything, she would have choked on it. She doesn’t fully believe the words that she is hearing.

They sit in silence as Clarke thinks. Finally, she says, "I'm sorry, I think I heard you wrong. I thought you said that we should get married." 

Roan shakes his head with a laugh. "No, you heard me correctly, Clarke." 

Clarke stares at him for a moment in shock, but as staring into his eyes she realizes just how serious he is. "Are you out of your damn mind?" she yells. 

Clarke could never imagine marrying the Roan of her universe—her Roan was like a brother to her. But the man standing before her is not her Roan. It's this Clarke’s Roan, and after the twenty-five other times she's done this, she's learned that relationships are different in each universe she visits. The memories she has from this Clarke prove that. Though this Roan is similar to her own, he isn't the same man. She can't believe Roan would suggest this, but even more, this Clarke can’t believe it either. It surprises her that he would want to marry her in any capacity, but the more she thinks about it, the more she can see why it would work.

"It would be purely political,” Roan begins, “I don't expect anything from you aside from being my partner in uniting the clans. You can do whatever, or whoever you want in your spare time. This is the only peaceful way I know of to unite them, Clarke." 

She knows that Roan is right and she can feel that this Clarke knows he's right too. Every other option she can think of revolves around death and she's tired of death—they’re all tired of death. She knows the answer that will leave her mouth even before it’s spoken. She feels a piece of her heart shatter, knowing that this Clarke might be sacrificing her happiness to do this—bearing it so that the others don’t have to.

"Okay fine. You’re right, it’s the only option. I’ll marry you." She bites her tongue as she says it, afraid of what else might fall from her mouth. 

Roan smiles, stands up, and hugs her. She's mildly surprised but returns the hug.

"Okay, well,” Roan says as he pulls away, “we will get married tomorrow. Let’s make the announcement now though." 

"Wait." Clarke is panicking as she slaps his hand away from the radio-like machine that allows them to be heard throughout the entire bunker. Roan’s confusion is written all over his face as she takes a deep breath before continuing, "Can we postpone telling them? Just for an hour or two? Just at least until I can tell…" 

"Bellamy," Roan finishes for her, understanding morphing his face. 

Clarke nods. If she's going to get married, she needs to tell her partner. It’s going to break her heart, but she owes it to Bellamy to be the one to tell him.

"Take as long as you need, but come back here when you’re done?" He phrases it as a question and not a demand which helps.

Clarke nods her head and leaves the office in a hurry. She sifts through this Clarke's memories to see if she can figure out where Bellamy might be. She recalls Bellamy telling her that he was going to go pick a room for them to share and she heads in the direction of the bunks. 

When she finds Bellamy, he's in a room that looks like all the other standard rooms—four sets of bunk beds and eight trunks beside the bunks. He’s putting his stuff away but looks up and shoots her a smile. "Hey. I hope you don't mind top bunk—I’m fairly certain that if I try to sleep up there that I'm gonna fall off. How was your meeting with Roan?"

Clarke takes a deep breath. She really doesn’t want to tell him, but she has to. 

He notices her hesitation, asking, "What's wrong?" 

God she wishes every Bellamy could read her so well—like her own had been able to.

Clarke snorts. "You know sometimes I really hate how well you can read me." 

He walks to her, eyes never leaving hers as he waits for her to speak.

She rubs a hand over her face before speaking, "Technically, nothing’s wrong—no one we love is dying or on the verge of death and we aren't even at war right now." She shakes her head—she just needs to rip the bandaid off. "So, Roan found a solution that he thinks will help unite the clans" 

It’s obvious from the look on Bellamy’s face that this isn’t what he was expecting her to say. "Really? That’s great, but if that's all it was then why weren’t the rest of us there?" 

While Bellamy and Roan have been trying to get along for her sake, they still tend to get into arguments over the dumbest of things. So unless it's important, they tend to stay far away from each other, or so Clarke’s memories tell her. So she understands Bellamy’s confusion since Roan had said that it wasn’t something that Bellamy needed to be there for.

"I think he wanted to tell me without other people there to share their opinions and honestly? I don’t blame him after hearing his idea." 

"Okay, so what's his solution?" Bellamy asks, interest obviously piqued but also sounding unsure.

Clarke lets out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as she steps toward him. Both she and this Clarke are afraid to tell him—neither of them wants to tell him. 

"Roan is Azgeda's king, therefore they trust him. Trikru and Skaikru will follow me with Indra’s help." She pauses and Bellamy nods, letting her know that he’s following so far. "He thinks the best—no, the only way, to get everyone to unite is if I marry him." 

She closes her eyes not wanting to see his reaction to the bomb she’s just dropped on him. A few minutes go by and he's still silent. She wants to open her eyes and look at him, but fear keeps them squeezed tight—fear of disappointing Bellamy. She jumps, eyes opening as she hears one of the trunks slam shut. Her eyes instinctively seek out Bellamy. 

She has seen many looks on Bellamy’s face—both her own Bellamy as well as the many Bellamys she’s met in other universes—over the years. She’s seen him look hurt, scared, protective, happy, relieved, betrayed, angry, desperate, frustrated—hell she has even seen heartbroken—but she has never seen this look before. He looks angry and like his heart has been ripped out of his body at the same time. "He asked you to marry him?" 

Clarke has never heard Bellamy—any version of him—sound so broken and she feels a pang deep in her heart. "Yes, he did. He said it was the only peaceful way to get the clans to unite and I think he’s right. It’s the only choice." 

“Only choice,” Bellamy scoffs. He’s not happy about it, but she can tell that Bellamy knows that Roan is right. “That’s an oxymoron.”

Clarke can barely keep herself from wincing at the reminder of the words she’d once spoken to her own Bellamy and then anomaly Bellamy parroting them back to her not that long ago.

Bellamy sinks onto the bottom bunk, head in his hands. She’d expected him to yell—saying that she can't do this, for a multitude of reasons—never did she expect him to just accept it. He looks so defeated and all she wants to do is hug him, but she doesn’t know if that’s the right choice.

"Bellamy, I don't want to do this anymore than you want me to do this, but if we want to live I have to," she manages to get out, voice shaking slightly, causing Bellamy’s eyes to meet hers.

"Believe me, Clarke, I know this is the only way. If I could think of any other way for this to work, I would be doing and saying anything that I could to make you not do this." He stands up, tears in his eyes as he takes her hands into his. "I would be telling you not to marry him—I would be getting down on my knees and begging you to marry me instead.” 

Bellamy shakes his head and scoffs, “Before you told me this, I was planning to tell you that I love you—that I’m in love with you—and I would make you happy if you let me. But now? Now, I can't." 

Tears stream down her face, heart-broken. "We can still be together—Roan said that it’s only a political marriage. He doesn't expect anything from me except to be married to him in the eyes of the clans. He said that I can be with whoever that I want." 

Bellamy shakes his head. He looks like he's trying very hard not to break down. "I can't Clarke. Roan may have said it's okay, but what about the clans? If they caught us, they could use that as an excuse to stage a coup. You could get hurt. I can't let that happen—I won’t let that happen." 

Clarke decides that besides her own universe—or any universe where Bellamy dies, really—this is the one that she hates the most. Knowing that Bellamy loves her but he can't be with her. 

"I wish, more than anything, that you didn't have to sacrifice your happiness to do this. You, more than anyone, deserve it." 

She can't even see his face anymore, not through her tears. He pulls her to him for a hug and she accepts it—she relishes it. She lets him hold her until the tears dry up and she feels empty. When she pulls back she sees that Bellamy’s face is red and tear-stained, but his eyes are calm.

"I'll still be your best friend, Clarke. I'm not going anywhere. Hell if you want me to, I'll be the person that stands beside you when you get married. But that’s all that we can be Clarke. I won’t do something that puts you in danger, no matter how much I want to.” Bellamy pulls her in for another bone-crushing hug. As they break apart, she opens her mouth to say something but stops when she hears footsteps.

She turns around to see Roan and it’s obvious by the look on his face that he heard the last part of their conversation. "Clarke, I'm sorry to have to do this to you, but there's been a change of plans and we have to do this now." 

"What? Why?"

"Because a member of Trikru just got into a fight with one of my people and we were barely able to break it up. I've spoken to Gaia and she says she can do the ceremony.” Roan’s eyes land on Bellamy. “Come on, both of you. Bellamy, if you’ll come up with us while we make the announcement, there's something else I need to say and you need to be there for it." 

Bellamy looks like he's about to protest but stops at Roan’s glare. Clarke just shrugs, she doesn’t know what Roan is talking about but it’s not like she has a choice—she has to go. She and Bellamy follow Roan as he leads them to the rotunda that is better known to her as the fighting pit. 

As they arrive, Clarke sees that everyone has already gathered and she can hear chatter amongst the people wondering what could be going on. Roan, Clarke, and Bellamy move to the ramp that lines the rotunda to stand beside Gaia and Indra. 

Roan looks out onto their people for a moment before speaking, "There was a dispute between a member of Trikru and a member of Azgeda just moments ago that led to an altercation. We can’t allow this to happen again.” He turns toward Clarke. “So to better unite our clans Wanheda has graciously agreed to marry me. " 

This gets everyone's attention and it appears that not only does everyone agree with this idea, but she thinks that they approve. She assumes that this is the end of Roan’s speech—because what more could he have to say—so she reaches for his hand, figuring that their joined hands would show their unity.

However, Roan is not done speaking. "And because this marriage is for the purpose of uniting the clans only, it will be an open marriage." 

Clarke's eyes widen. She knows Roan said that she could do whatever she wanted but she’d never expected him to announce it to the entire population of the bunker. She turns to look at Bellamy and sees a similar expression on his face. 

"So if you see her or me with anyone else, know that we have each other's permission. Not that this should be any of your business, but we’re just letting everyone know so that there are no misconceptions. We do not want your thoughts nor your opinions on the matter and if anyone feels the need to put their nose where it does not belong, know that there will be consequences." 

The crowd remains silent as if they know not to talk. Roan turns to her and winks before he turns back to the crowd. "Now in about ten minutes, we will begin the ceremony." Roan lowers his voice as he turns to Bellamy and Clarke. "Why don’t you take those ten minutes to talk and then we’ll meet back here." 

Both of them nod their heads before heading into the office where they can talk without being interrupted. 

"So, now that my safety isn't a concern, do you wanna talk about..." Bellamy cuts her off by pressing his lips to hers. She's surprised for a second before she deepens the kiss, but when he pulls away she grins. "That."

Bellamy’s smile lights up his face. "Sorry, we don't have time to talk right now—you have to get married. But after that? I promise that we will talk." 

Clarke nods her head as she beams up at him. "Okay." 

They head back to the rotunda and to her surprise, everyone is still there. Roan calls her over to where he and Gaia stand waiting, ready to start the ceremony.

"You ready?" he asks.

"Yes, I'm ready." 

Roan nods his head and takes her hands into his. And just as Gaia starts speaking, the familiar dizziness takes hold, and she knows it's time for her to leave. As she feels herself falling into the darkness, she has one last moment where she squeezes Roan’s hands and thinks this Clarke could actually be happy here. And then everything goes to black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roarke open marriage? Sounds like a good time to me! We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow Hannah on [Tumblr](https://bellarkestitchdelena.tumblr.com/) & [Twitter](https://twitter.com/clarkesminion) and Brooke on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/broashwhat/) & [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/broashwhat)
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you Tuesday for a new chapter!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun has dipped below the horizon, painting the lifeless desert around them in increasingly cooler colors by the time the grave is filled in and level with the rest of the ground. Monty unfolds a paper packet with trembling hands and scatters its contents over the disturbed soil. 
> 
> Seeds. He’s scattering seeds. 
> 
> *
> 
> This is not a universe Clarke wanted to visit, but here she is anyway. And it sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 27! Can you believe we’re halfway there? We hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter written by [kindclaws.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindclaws/pseuds/kindclaws)
> 
> Intro written by [Mads.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job)
> 
> Moodboard by [Mads.](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Mads are involved in The 100 Fic for BLM initiative! To learn more about the initiative and how you can prompt/join, please check out the carrd [here.](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

Her head hurts when she opens her eyes, back in her own body. 

“It takes a lot out of your mind, this exercise,” anomaly Bellamy says, casually leaning against the wall opposite from her like always. His voice isn’t judgemental; it’s sympathetic, worried. And after his attitude, before she went into the last universe, it pisses her off. 

“Since when do you care?” she huffs at him, voice harsh. She’s tired, and she misses her Bellamy. This isn’t him, and she doesn’t understand why he’s acting like him. 

“Would you rather me not?” 

“I’d rather you stop acting like you know me,” she spits back at him. “We’re not friends, you’re not Bellamy, and I’m tired of having to remind myself that you aren’t every time you look at me like that!” 

She isn’t sure where her outburst comes from, and from the look on anomaly Bellamy’s face, he isn’t sure, either. 

“I’m sorry someone caring about your general wellbeing is so disconcerting to you.” His own voice is gruff and frustrated, a tone she recognizes easily. It makes her even more irrationally irritated. 

“But you aren’t someone! You are a figment of my fucking imagination, hellbent on torturing me with the image of the best friend I betrayed.” 

He starts pacing, another very Bellamy move. “You’re not the first to pass the test and enter the code for transcendence, but you are the first who decided to camp out in here for a while to tour all of the universes you missed out on.” She tries not to let that sting, but she’s unsuccessful. Yes, she’s enjoying getting to see these other universes, but that isn’t why she had originally asked to see them. And he knows that.

But he just continues pacing and talking to himself as if she’s not even sitting there. “And I am a manifestation of Bellamy, someone who you love and someone who loves you. It would be logical for me to present the characteristics of that dynamic considering my connection to his own mindspace.” 

“Well stop being logical! It’s not helping. _ You’re  _ not helping.” 

What kind of world does she live in that this is actually happening to her right now? An anomaly stone manifestation that looks like her dead best friend and it would seem to be soulmate is arguing with her about the fact that he’s acting like said dead best friend. 

Normally she’d assume she’s in some wild dream. But honestly, it’s too batshit crazy of a scenario for even her own mind to have conjured on its own.

She doesn’t have the energy to have this fight with him right now, so she just slumps against the wall defeated. He seems to notice the change because he follows suit, mirroring her actions against his own wall. 

“You’ve been acting weird,” she points out once they’ve both settled for a moment. 

“I know.” His agreement with her is startling. And her shock must show on her face because he runs a hand down his face to hide the beginnings of an amused grin. “I’m trying to remain an impassive observer because that’s what I’m built for. But the longer you’re in here, the more I can’t figure you out.” 

“Why do you need to have me figured out?” 

“Humanity is supposed to be simple—an amalgamation of memories and choices that determine an infinite number of predestined futures. But the longer you’re here, the more that theory no longer fits. And it’s...irritating.” 

The obvious frustration written all over him makes Clarke smile. “You are not the first Bellamy to be irritated and confused upon meeting me.” 

“If you truly want someone else to be here, you can change it,” he reminds her. 

Clarke just sighs, her head leaning back against the wall. “I know. I think deep down I know this is as close as I’ll ever get to having him back. And while you aren’t him… I think my subconscious knows this is better than nothing.” 

He nods as if he understands, though she doubts he really does. Hell, she isn’t sure she even understands. But she doesn’t argue with him, instead moving to find another universe. 

* * *

Clarke wakes with an exhale that crystallizes as it leaves her lips. 

She opens her eyes to a blinding light overhead and flinches away. When she raises her hand to rub at her eyes, her muscles are heavy and sluggish. 

“Hi, Clarke,” a familiar voice says, and she freezes halfway through rolling onto her side. She raises her head slowly, still blinking away a long sleep and dark spots from her vision, but he’s still there when her eyes focus. 

Her breath dies in her throat as Monty tilts his head and forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his clouded eyes, and neither of them speaks for a long moment as they drink the sight of each other in. His skin is soft and papery and speckled with age-spots, especially around his eyes. He sits slumped on a folding stool at the side of her cryosleep pod, his shirt hanging off his thin shoulders, revealing sunken collarbones, and he looks so fragile that Clarke’s hand hovers anxiously over his knee, afraid to touch him in case he falls apart under her fingertips.

Clarke has seen him like this, once before, in her own universe. But it is simultaneously better and worse to see him in the flesh instead of in a decades-old recording.

“Oh, Monty,” she says, forcing herself to return that sad, ancient smile.

“Before you give me shit for not waking you earlier,” he says, and his voice is still so achingly familiar under the rasp of old age that she can’t help but huff out a small laugh. He raises a hand to bid her to wait when she opens her mouth to interrupt, and she doesn’t miss the way it shakes. “I need your help.”

“Of course,” Clarke says, finally sitting up and letting her legs hang off the edge of the cryo pod. The chill in her bones is starting to thaw, her body returning to itself.

“I need your help-” Monty repeats, suddenly blinking rapidly, and he covers his mouth with one shaking, papery hand as his voice cracks. “-with Harper’s body,” he finishes, and Clarke’s throat closes as surely as if she’d been choked as she reaches for him. She pushes off the edge of the cryo pod and kneels in front of him, her arms already outstretched to embrace his thin waist and he breaks under her touch like she was afraid he would. He cries silently, shaking in her arms, clutching fistfuls of her hair. She feels teardrops on her scalp and blinks her own away. 

“Breathe, Monty,” she murmurs. “I know. I know. Breathe,” and finally he breathes in gasps, filling the eerie silence of hundreds of other cryo pods humming the years away. 

It’s too quiet with just the two of them, so Clarke starts to hum. A half-forgotten melody returns to her in stolen snatches of memory. She hummed this for Atom, so many lifetimes ago, and it calmed him then, just as it calms Monty now. His breathing evens slowly, interrupted now and then by violent hiccups and she remembers that, too, about the grief. It never goes away cleanly. 

“Let’s get you some water,” she says after a long silence, and she helps him stand. He is smaller in old age than she remembers, and she is reluctant to let go of his elbow as he sways to his feet. He leads her to the ship’s kitchens like he’s walked these halls his whole life, and as she picks through her memories of this universe, she finds he nearly has. This is the first point of divergence between his universe and hers. She wonders what’s different. She wonders what he did with Harper’s body in her universe. If he felt as alone as she did those first few months after Praimfaya. 

So many heartbreaking universes for her to skim through, and still the sting never fades. 

Monty pours Clarke a glass without asking if she wants one, and she’s grateful to wash the acrid taste of cryosleep out of her mouth. His fingers shake around his glass. She reaches out and touches his knuckles very gently. 

“I’m okay,” he says. 

“How did it happen?” Clarke asks. 

“In her sleep,” Monty says. “Like you predicted when you made that list.”

Clarke closes her eyes and exhales. 

He tells her about it in halting sentences—not just the death, but the life that came before it. The life that never returned to the Earth, no matter how long they waited. And finally, how they stopped waiting, and started living again. Clarke feels the same bittersweet ache in her chest that she felt hearing this story the first time.

“We were happy,” he says, with a certain forcefulness behind the words that makes her tilt her head in confusion at him. “You don’t look like you believe me.”

Clarke takes a sip of her water to avoid answering immediately. 

Truthfully, she’s thinking about the years she spent with Madi in Eden. They were happy, too, but…sometimes it felt more like a dream that had overstayed its welcome than a life worth living.

_Would it have been different if Bellamy were there?_ her traitorous mind asks, and she suppresses a shiver.

“I believe you,” Clarke says instead.

Monty sits and considers her for a long time. “Will you help?” he asks at last.

“Of course,” she says softly, and he leads her wordlessly out of the kitchen to the sleeping compartments that must have been theirs. As sterile as the Eligius ship is, she still sees the touches of a home. A pale pink sweater hanging by the door. Papers and drafting tools scattered on the desk. A child’s clumsy drawing propped against the wall. The air is very stale.

Monty has already wrapped Harper’s body in a pale sheet and Clarke is grateful for the distance it puts between her and the death. The shape underneath the shroud is still recognizably human; the head at one end lolled to the side as if she’s just fallen asleep, the feet at the other end making a peak in the fabric, but like this Clarke can pretend it is anyone. A stranger instead of a girl she once knew. It helps that as Clarke picks the body up, it is lighter and smaller than she remembers Harper being. 

“Lead the way,” Clarke says roughly, and Monty, with great effort, manages to wrench his gaze away from the shrouded silhouette and start walking. 

Clarke expects him to lead her to an airlock. She doesn’t expect his shuffling little footsteps to end in front of the ship’s main loading door. 

“Wait-“ Clarke bursts out, and Monty’s hand freezes on the lever. “What are you doing?” 

“You said you’d help bury her,” he says after a long pause. 

“ _Bury?_ ” Clarke asks. “But Earth-“ He said it was dead. She’s not signing up to help him die too. “The air could be toxic.”

Monty pulls the lever without breaking eye contact, and Clarke gasps as the ancient machinery whirs to life and a crack opens between the heavy metal panels. 

“Telemetry came back fine,” he tells her. “Also, I already went out and scoped out a place.”

“Oh,” Clarke says, in a small voice that is made smaller still by the view revealed by the opening door. She’s reminded suddenly of digging her way out of the rubble of Becca’s lab all those years ago. The first few months after Praimfaya, when she wandered an endless dusty landscape, hoping for an oasis behind every new dune and finding only another glass crater. Monty starts down the ramp at a surprising pace for how frail he looks, and Clarke hitches Harper’s weight higher in her arms as she follows, casting a despairing gaze across the landscape. “This is it?” she asks, staring at a hopeless blur of gray. “There’s nowhere greener on the entire planet?”

“No,” Monty says, in a tone that doesn’t leave room for argument. “There’s nothing. I sampled the soil, Clarke. It’s not just dead, it’s totally lifeless. I couldn’t find a single fucking microbe.” 

But it came back. It came back, in her universe.

“Surely there’s a cockroach somewhere,” Clarke forces a smile that he doesn’t deign to look at. “It’ll come back to life, Monty.”

He stops suddenly at the crest of a small, dusty hill. 

“Here,” he says, and together they stare up at the sun that’s loitering just above the horizon, barely more than a smudge of light behind thick, gray-beige clouds. Yeah. It looks painfully familiar. Clarke lays Harper’s body out as gently as possible, and feels another wave of grief rush over her and wrap cruel fingers around her ribcage.

They don’t have shovels or anything—who would have packed a shovel for the first Eligius space-faring mission, centuries ago?—so they get to work with improvised tools from the mechanical bay. Monty loosens the dry, dusty ground with a crowbar while Clarke scoops it away with a bowl. It takes a long time to dig a Harper-sized hole deep enough that the desert winds won’t uncover her, and Clarke welcomes the sweat that beads on her skin and the strain in her long-slumbering muscles. It’s something to occupy her brain that isn’t the Harper-shaped hole in the universe where she should be giving them that wry signature smile of hers.

Monty says nothing else until they finally lower Harper into the grave, and then they’re staring down at the shroud. The sun is scraping valiantly against the horizon and Clarke thinks that they should at least have flowers. They should have something beautiful to send her off. 

“Harper,” Monty says, and then breaks off coughing. Clarke rubs his back until his breathing evens and says nothing about the tears streaking his now dusty face. “Harper, love, I am lucky enough to have gotten to the end of our lives having said almost everything I wanted to say. We were lucky like that. I have no regrets about the last few decades of our lives, and I know you didn’t either. I thought that would make it easier to say goodbye, but...“ he swallows hard and looks at Clarke. “I miss her already,” he says, sounding defeated. 

“Me too,” Clarke says quietly, though she has been missing Harper—missing them _all_ , for longer than he knows. 

He wipes stubbornly at the corners of his eyes. “Your turn.”

Clarke stares at the wrinkled bundle at the bottom of the grave. It doesn’t seem fair that this universe should drop her into this day. 

“I think I underestimated her,” she says quietly, “like so many did. She was so strong when she needed to be, and so soft when she wanted to be. Always a smile, always rolling up her sleeves and getting to work. I wish we’d had more time together, Harper. I wish I’d made it to the rocket and lived years more with you, getting to know all the little things I missed when we were always surviving one disaster after another. I wish-“ she breaks off and glares at Monty. “Why am I here? Why me, and not the people you lived with for years, that you guys _literally_ called family?”

Monty sways on his feet. 

“Because I could predict all of their arguments, and I couldn’t predict yours,” he says, and then he kneels and starts shoving the small piles of dirt along the edges of the grave into the hole with his hands. 

The sun has dipped below the horizon, painting the lifeless desert around them in increasingly cooler colors by the time the grave is filled in and level with the rest of the ground. Monty unfolds a paper packet with trembling hands and scatters its contents over the disturbed soil. 

Seeds. He’s scattering seeds. 

He finally looks at Clarke again. “Come on,” he says, almost gentle, and leads her back to the ship by the hand. Clarke looks back over her shoulder, once, at the expanse of sand dunes stretching out to the horizon, and is afraid that if those seeds don’t grow something she’ll never find the one that Harper is buried under again. 

She’s still got the dirt under her fingertips when Monty places a new cup of tea in front of her. 

“I woke you because I need to make a decision,” he says softly. “And I already knew what everyone else would say.”

Clarke stirs half-heartedly. “What is it?”

“Earth’s not coming back,” Monty says. 

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he replies firmly. “I still hope. That’s why I buried her out there, that’s why I saved some seeds. But it’s not coming back for us. I’ve been waiting for a long time, Clarke. I had time to look for other options. I decrypted the other Eligius mission files. There are habitable planets out there. We could set a course for one of them and automate the ship to wake everyone upon arrival.” 

The decision he made in her universe. 

“So why haven’t you?” Clarke asks. What’s holding him back?

“I’m not sure we deserve a second chance. Or third, or whatever number humanity’s on right now,” Monty says bluntly. 

“Fair enough,” Clarke says and clinks their tea mugs together. It burns going down her throat. “So what else are you considering?”

“I tell the cryo pods to cycle down life support,” Monty says quietly. “And we bury the bodies, all of them, on Earth, and hope it’s enough biomass to kickstart another evolutionary chain, and maybe one day those other Eligius missions will come home to a green planet again.”

Clarke feels a chill settle over her that not even the warmth of the tea can chase away.

“So that’s why you picked me instead of the others,” she says with a humorless smile. 

“I woke you up so you could talk me out of it,” Monty says, raising his chin defiantly. Underneath the age she can still see the fifteen-year-old boy who always stood his ground, and she missed him. She missed them all so much. 

“There’s a third option,” she says with a lump in her throat. “You go into cryosleep—“ she raises her hand as he opens his mouth to protest. “Hear me out, Monty. You go into cryosleep, because you deserve to see Earth come back to life with your own eyes, and you have a son who will want to see it with you. And I’ll take over yours and Harper’s watch. I’ll wait for it to bloom, and I’ll wake you all up when it’s green again.”

“And if it never is?” 

“Then I pass on the baton to someone else, I guess,” Clarke says. “But it won’t come to that.” She reaches out and takes his dirty hands between hers, and the dust separating their skin might be lifeless now, but it won’t always be that way. She’d bet on it even if she hadn’t come from a universe where it had worked.

Monty slowly raises his head to look at her, and there are fresh tears beading at the corners of his eyes, where the wrinkles tell her he spent most of the last few decades smiling. That means something. That _has_ to mean something. 

“Maybe I should have let you all sleep,” he says hoarsely. “It would be peaceful, wouldn’t it? The ship can’t run forever. You all would have died in your sleep without knowing. It’s a better death than most of us got.”

“We can do better than that,” Clarke insists, and she sees him waver again. She softens her voice. “I’ve still got hope, Monty.” 

He doesn’t put up much of a fight after that. She doesn’t get the impression that he really wants to.

“One more moonrise,” Monty makes her promise, and they buckle in side by side to take off from the desert. 

Clarke swears she hears him let out an awed sigh as they reach orbit, even over the ship’s shaking and groaning joints, though it must have been her imagination. She looks at the surface of the world they’ve left behind yet again instead, a part of her still searching for a little spot of green that Monty’s tired eyes could have missed. But the Earth is cast into shadow, and she can’t see anything, and as the ship settles into flight she lets her gaze drift up to the edge of the pale white moon peeking around the darkened planet to greet them. 

She exhales in wonder, too. 

It’s not the moonrise she and Bellamy watched over Sanctum, so many lifetimes ago. But maybe it can be something better. 

Monty stays awake just long enough to have her settled into another room next to the mausoleum of his and Harper’s life together—by unspoken agreement, neither of them want to tidy it up and put away the last traces of her—and to walk her through the telemetry systems he’s had pointed at Earth all this time. 

She starts crying again as Monty lays back in the cryo pod she evacuated earlier that day, and forces herself to swallow down the hitches in her breath. The last thing she wants is to accidentally make Monty change his mind and lose the chance to reunite with Jordan at the end of all this—however it ends. 

But she can’t help thinking that for this universe’s Clarke this is like watching the rocket take off without her again. 

Monty and Harper might have found happiness as the Earth’s guardians, but…they weren’t alone. Not like she was—like she will be. 

She watches Monty’s slack face until the glass fogs over with intricate etchings of frost, and then she wanders the endless rows of cryo pods for a while, trailing her hands over familiar names. Madi. Her mom. Emori. 

_Bellamy._

She ejects his pod from the rack and sits on the glass cover for what feels like a very long time, drinking in the sight of the face she loves most in the world. He looks so peaceful, she tells herself. It would be cruel to wake him just because she doesn’t want to spend the years ahead by herself.

It would be cruel not to. 

She can feel a certain sense of vertigo that tells her there’s not much time left. Her hand shakes as she keys in the thaw controls and her fingertip hovers over the confirmation prompt as the edges of her vision start to blur and fall away. _Confirm_ or _cancel_. 

Maybe he will hate her for waking him. Maybe he will lay back down and go back to sleep with the rest of his family. Maybe he will wake them all and they’ll live out some strange shadow of a life where she made it to the Ring the first time around, or they’ll push her away like they did in her own universe. Or maybe Bellamy will stay, maybe he’ll take that burden with her, and they’ll grow old together waiting for the Earth to bloom. Monty said he was happy. Maybe they will be too.

There’s no video in this universe, but his words still ring in her ears. 

_Do better._

The confirmation prompt blurs, and she knows she’s out of time. She can’t make this choice for the other Clarke.

She lets her hand drop, and stops fighting the pull of the anomaly stone drawing her back to her own universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not crying—you’re crying. We hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Make sure to follow kindclaws on [Tumblr](https://kindclaws.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Come scream with us wreckjrothclub [Tumblr, ](https://wreck-jroth-club.tumblr.com/)[Twitter](https://twitter.com/wreckjrothclub), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wreck_jroth_club/)!
> 
> We’ll see you Thursday for a new chapter!


End file.
